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THE  WORKS  OF 
EUGENE  FIELD 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/writingsinprosev04fiel 


THE  WRITINGS  IN 
PROSE  AND  VERSE 
OF  EUGENE  FIELD 


F^OEMS  OF 
CHILDHOOD 


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SONS*  NEW  YORK.  *1903 


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• With  the  Children  ", 


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Mr.  Field's  Home"  Buena  Park?;, Chicago,  111. 


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THE  WRITINGS  IN 
PROSE  AND  VERSE 
OF  EUGENE  FIELD 


F)OEMS  OF 
CHILDHOOD 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 
SONS  J NEW  YORK  $ 1 903 


Copyright,  1892,  by 
Mary  French  Field. 


Copyright,  1894,  by 
Eugene  Field. 


PUBLISHERS’  NOTE 


There  are  included  in  this  volume  a number  of  verses 
which  are  printed  also  in  “A  Little  Book  of  Western 
Verse.”  They  have  been  retained  in  both  places,  as  it 
was  thought  best  not  to  change  the  arrangement  which 
Mr.  Field  had  so  carefully  planned. 


Content# 

PAGE 

WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 3 

LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 123 

vii 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


With  big  tin  trumpet  and  little  red  drum, 

Marching  like  soldiers,  the  children  come! 

It ’s  this  way  and  that  way  they  circle  and  file  — 

My!  but  that  music  of  theirs  is  fine! 

This  way  and  that  way,  and  after  a while 
They  march  straight  into  this  heart  of  mine! 

A sturdy  old  heart,  but  it  has  to  succumb 

To  the  blare  of  that  trumpet  and  beat  of  that  drum  ! 

Come  on,  little  people,  from  cot  and  from  hall  — 

This  heart  it  hath  welcome  and  room  for  you  all! 

It  will  sing  you  its  songs  and  warm  you  with  love, 

As  your  dear  little  arms  with  my  arms  intertwine; 

It  will  rock  you  away  to  the  dreamland  above  — 

Oh,  a jolly  old  heart  is  this  old  heart  of  mine, 

And  jollier  still  is  it  bound  to  become 
When  you  blow  that  big  trumpet  and  beat  that  red 
drum ! 

So  come ; though  I see  not  his  dear  little  face 
And  hear  not  his  voice  in  this  jubilant  place, 

I know  he  were  happy  to  bid  me  enshrine 

His  memory  deep  in  my  heart  with  your  play  — 

Ah  me!  but  a love  that  is  sweeter  than  mine 
Holdeth  my  boy  in  its  keeping  to-day! 

And  my  heart  it  is  lonely  — so,  little  folk,  come, 

March  in  and  make  merry  with  trumpet  and  drum! 

EUGENE  FIELD. 

Chicago,  September  13,  1892. 


IX 


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PAGE 

The  Sugar-Plum  Tree 3 

Krinken 5 

The  Naughty  Doll 8 

Nightfall  in  Dordrecht 10 

Intry-Mintry 12 

PlTTYPAT  AND  TlPPYTOE 1 5 

Balow,  my  Bonnie 18 

The  Hawthorne  Children 20 

Little  Blue  Pigeon  (Japanese  Lullaby)  ....  23 

The  Lyttel  Boy .25 

Teeny-Weeny 27 

Nellie 30 

Norse  Lullaby 32 

Grandma’s  Prayer 34 

Some  Time 35 

The  Fire-Hangbird’s  Nest 37 

Buttercup,  Poppy,  Forget-me-not 42 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  (Dutch  Lullaby)  . . 44 

Gold  and  Love  for  Dearie  ..  ......  47 

The  Peace  of  Christmas-Time 49 

To  a Little  Brook ,51 

xi 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Croodlin’  Doo  * 54 

Little  Mistress  Sans-Merci 56 

Long  Ago 58 

In  the  Firelight 60 

Cobbler  and  Stork  (Armenian  Folk-Lore)  ...  62 

“ Lollyby,  lolly,  Lollyby” .66 

Lizzie  and  the  Baby 68 

At  the  Door 70 

Hugo’s  “Child  at  Play” 72 

Hi-Spy 73 

Little  Boy  Blue . 74 

Father’s  Letter 76 

Jewish  Lullaby 81 

Our  Whippings 83 

The  Armenian  Mother  (Folk-Song) 88 

Heigho,  my  Dearie  90 

To  a Usurper  . 92 

The  Bell-Flower  Tree 94 

Fairy  and  Child 97 

The  Grandsire 99 

Hushaby,  Sweet  my  Own 101 

Child  and  Mother 103 

Mediaeval  Eventide  Song 105 

Armenian  Lullaby 107 

Christmas  Treasures 109 

Oh,  Little  Child 1 1 2 

* Cooing  Dove, 
xii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ganderfeather’s  Gift . . 113 

Bambino  (Sicilian  Folk-Song) 115 

Little  Homer’s  Slate ,....117 

2 

The  Rock-a-By  Lady 123 

“ Booh  ! ” 125 

Garden  and  Cradle 127 

The  Night  Wind 128 

Kissing  Time 13 1 

Jest  ’fore  Christmas . 1 33 

Beard  and  Baby 137 

The  Dinkey-Bird 139 

The  Drum 142 

The  Dead  Babe 145 

The  Happy  Household 147 

So,  so,  Rock-a-by  so  ! 150 

The  Song  of  Luddy-Dud 152 

The  Duel 154 

Good-Children  Street 156 

The  Delectable  Ballad  of  the  Waller  Lot  . .159 

The  Stork 166 

xiii 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Bottle  Tree 169 

Googly-Goo  171 

The  Bench-Legged  Fyce 174 

Little  Miss  Brag 178 

The  Humming  Top 180 

Lady  Button-Eyes 182 

The  Ride  to  Bumpville 185 

The  Brook 188 

Picnic-Time  . 190 

Shuffle-Shoon  and  Amber-Locks  . . . . . .193 

The  Shut-Eye  Train 195 

Little-Oh-Dear 198 

The  Fly-Away  Horse 200 

Swing  High  and  Swing  Low 203 

When  I was  a Boy , . 205 

At  Play 207 

A Valentine 209 

Little  All-Aloney 211 

Seein’  Things 213 

The  Cunnin’  Little  Thing 216 

The  Doll's  Wooing 218 

Inscription  for  My  Little  Son's  Silver  Plate  . 220 

Fisherman  Jim’s  Kids 221 

i(  Fiddle-Dee-Dee  ” 224 

Over  the  Hills  and  Far  Away 227 


xiv 


Witty  Crumpet  anU  SDnim 


THE  SUGAR-PLUM  TREE 


^E  you  ever  heard  of  the  Sugar- 
Plum  Tree  ? 

’T  is  a marvel  of  great  renown ! 

It  blooms  on  the  shore  of  the  Lollipop  sea 
In  the  garden  of  Shut-Eye  Town; 

The  fruit  that  it  bears  is  so  wondrously  sweet 
(As  those  who  have  tasted  it  say) 

That  good  little  children  have  only  to  eat 
Of  that  fruit  to  be  happy  next  day. 

When  you  ’ve  got  to  the  tree,  you  would 
have  a hard  time 

To  capture  the  fruit  which  I sing; 

The  tree  is  so  tall  that  no  person  could  climb 
To  the  boughs  where  the  sugar-plums 
swing! 


3 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


But  up  in  that  tree  sits  a chocolate  cat, 

And  a gingerbread  dog  prowls  below — 
And  this  is  the  way  you  contrive  to  get  at 
Those  sugar-plums  tempting  you  so: 

You  say  but  the  word  to  that  gingerbread 
dog 

And  he  barks  with  such  terrible  zest 
That  the  chocolate  cat  is  at  once  all  agog, 

As  her  swelling  proportions  attest. 

And  the  chocolate  cat  goes  cavorting  around 
From  this  leafy  limb  unto  that, 

And  the  sugar-plums  tumble,  of  course,  to 
the  ground  — 

Hurrah  for  that  chocolate  cat! 

There  are  marshmallows,  gumdrops,  and 
peppermint  canes, 

With  stripings  of  scarlet  or  gold, 

And  you  carry  away  of  the  treasure  that  rains 
As  much  as  your  apron  can  hold! 

So  come,  little  child,  cuddle  closer  to  me 
In  your  dainty  white  nightcap  and  gown, 
And  I ’ll  rock  you  away  to  that  Sugar-Plum 
Tree 

In  the  garden  of  Shut-Eye  Town. 


4 


KRINKEN 


KRINKEN  was  a little  child, — 

It  was  summer  when  he  smiled. 
Oft  the  hoary  sea  and  grim 
Stretched  its  white  arms  out  to  him, 
Calling,  “Sun-child,  come  to  me; 

Let  me  warm  my  heart  with  thee!  ” 
But  the  child  heard  not  the  sea. 

Krinken  on  the  beach  one  day 
Saw  a maiden  Nis  at  play; 

Fair,  and  very  fair,  was  she, 

Just  a little  child  was  he. 

“Krinken,”  said  the  maiden  Nis, 

“ Let  me  have  a little  kiss, — 

Just  a kiss,  and  go  with  me 
To  the  summer-lands  that  be 
Down  within  the  silver  sea.” 


5 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Krinken  was  a little  child, 

By  the  maiden  Nis  beguiled ; 

Down  into  the  calling  sea 
With  the  maiden  Nis  went  he. 

But  the  sea  calls  out  no  more; 

It  is  winter  on  the  shore, — 

Winter  where  that  little  child 
Made  sweet  summer  when  he  smiled 
Though ’t  is  summer  on  the  sea 
Where  with  maiden  Nis  went  he, — 
Summer,  summer  evermore, — 

It  is  winter  on  the  shore, 

Winter,  winter  evermore. 

Of  the  summer  on  the  deep 
Come  sweet  visions  in  my  sleep; 

His  fair  face  lifts  from  the  sea, 

His  dear  voice  calls  out  to  me, — 
These  my  dreams  of  summer  be. 

Krinken  was  a little  child, 

By  the  maiden  Nis  beguiled; 

Oft  the  hoary  sea  and  grim 
Reached  its  longing  arms  to  him, 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Crying,  “Sun-child,  come  to  me; 
Let  me  warm  my  heart  with  thee!” 
But  the  sea  calls  out  no  more; 

It  is  winter  on  the  shore, — 

Winter,  cold  and  dark  and  wild; 
Krinken  was  a little  child, — 

It  was  summer  when  he  smiled; 
Down  he  went  into  the  sea, 

And  the  winter  bides  with  me. 

Just  a little  child  was  he. 


7 


THE  NAUGHTY  DOLL 


MY  dolly  is  a dreadful  care, — 

Her  name  is  Miss  Amandy; 

1 dress  her  up  and  curl  her  hair, 

And  feed  her  taffy  candy. 

Yet  heedless  of  the  pleading  voice 
Of  her  devoted  mother, 

She  will  not  wed  her  mother’s  choice, 
But  says  she  ’ll  v/ed  another. 

I ’d  have  her  wed  the  china  vase, — 
There  is  no  Dresden  rarer; 

You  might  go  searching  every  place 
And  never  find  a fairer. 

He  is  a gentle,  pinkish  youth, — 

Of  that  there ’s  no  denying; 

Yet  when  I speak  of  him,  forsooth, 
Amandy  falls  to  crying! 

8 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


She  loves  the  drum  — that ’s  very  plain  — 
And  scorns  the  vase  so  clever; 

And  weeping,  vows  she  will  remain 
A spinster  doll  forever! 

The  protestations  of  the  drum 
I am  convinced  are  hollow; 

When  once  distressing  times  should  come, 
How  soon  would  ruin  follow! 

Yet  all  in  vain  the  Dresden  boy 
From  yonder  mantel  woos  her; 

A mania  for  that  vulgar  toy, 

The  noisy  drum,  imbues  her! 

In  vain  1 wheel  her  to  and  fro, 

And  reason  with  her  mildly, — 

Her  waxen  tears  in  torrents  flow, 

Her  sawdust  heart  beats  wildly, 

I ’m  sure  that  when  1 ’m  big  and  tall, 

And  wear  long  trailing  dresses, 

I sha’n’t  encourage  beaux  at  all 
Till  mama  acquiesces; 

Our  choice  will  be  a suitor  then 
As  pretty  as  this  vase  is, — 

Oh,  how  we  ’ll  hate  the  noisy  men 
With  whiskers  on  their  faces! 


9 


NIGHTFALL  IN  DORDRECHT 


THE  mill  goes  toiling  slowly  around 
With  steady  and  solemn  creak, 

And  my  little  one  hears  in  the  kindly  sound 
The  voice  of  the  old  mill  speak. 

While  round  and  round  those  big  white 
wings 

Grimly  and  ghostlike  creep, 

My  little  one  hears  that  the  old  mill  sings : 
“Sleep,  little  tulip,  sleep!” 

The  sails  are  reefed  and  the  nets  are  drawn, 
And,  over  his  pot  of  beer, 

The  fisher,  against  the  morrow’s  dawn. 
Lustily  maketh  cheer; 

He  mocks  at  the  winds  that  caper  along 
From  the  far-off  clamorous  deep, — 

But  we  — we  love  their  lullaby  song 
Of  “Sleep,  little  tulip,  sleep!” 


10 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Old  dog  Fritz  in  slumber  sound 
Groans  of  the  stony  mart  — 
To-morrow  how  proudly  he  ’ll  trot  you 
round, 

Hitched  to  our  new  milk-cart! 

And  you  shall  help  me  blanket  the  kine 
And  fold  the  gentle  sheep 
And  set  the  herring  a-soak  in  brine  — 

But  now,  little  tulip,  sleep ! 

A Dream-One  comes  to  button  the  eyes 
That  wearily  droop  and  blink, 

While  the  old  mill  buffets  the  frowning  skies 
And  scolds  at  the  stars  that  wink ; 

Over  your  face  the  misty  wings 

Of  that  beautiful  Dream-One  sweep, 
And  rocking  your  cradle  she  softly  sings: 
“Sleep,  little  tulip,  sleep!” 


INTRY-MINTRY 


WILLIE  and  Bess,  Georgie  and  May  — 
Once,  as  these  children  were  hard  at 
play, 

An  old  man,  hoary  and  tottering,  came 
And  watched  them  playing  their  pretty 
game. 

He  seemed  to  wonder,  while  standing 
there, 

What  the  meaning  thereof  could  be  — 
Aha,  but  the  old  man  yearned  to  share 
Of  the  little  children’s  innocent  glee 
As  they  circled  around  with  laugh  and  shout 
And  told  their  rime  at  counting  out: 

“ Intry-mintry,  cutrey-corn, 

Apple-seed  and  apple-thorn; 

Wire,  brier,  limber,  lock, 

Twelve  geese  in  a flock; 

Some  flew  east,  some  flew  west, 

Some  flew  over  the  cuckoo’s  nest!  ” 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Willie  and  Bess,  Georgie  and  May  — 

Ah,  the  mirth  of  that  summer-day! 

’T  was  Father  Time  who  had  come  to  share 
The  innocent  joy  of  those  children  there; 

He  learned  betimes  the  game  they  played 
And  into  their  sport  with  them  went 
he  — 

How  could  the  children  have  been  afraid, 
Since  little  they  recked  whom  he  might 
be? 

They  laughed  to  hear  old  Father  Time 
Mumbling  that  curious  nonsense  rime 
Of  “ Intry-mintry,  cutrey-corn, 
Apple-seed  and  apple-thorn; 

Wire,  brier,  limber,  lock, 

Twelve  geese  in  a flock; 

Some  flew  east,  some  flew  west, 

Some  flew  over  the  cuckoo’s  nest!  ” 


Willie  and  Bess,  Georgie  and  May, 

And  joy  of  summer  — where  are  they? 
The  grim  old  man  still  standeth  near 
Crooning  the  song  of  a far-off  year; 
And  into  the  winter  I come  alone, 
Cheered  by  that  mournful  requiem, 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Soothed  by  the  dolorous  monotone 

That  shall  count  me  off  as  it  counted 
them  — 

The  solemn  voice  of  old  Father  Time 
Chanting  the  homely  nursery  rime 

He  learned  of  the  children  a summer 
morn 

When,  with  “apple-seed  and  apple- 
thorn,” 

Life  was  full  of  the  dulcet  cheer 

That  bringeth  the  grace  of  heaven 
anear — 

The  sound  of  the  little  ones  hard  at 
play  — 

Willie  and  Bess,  Georgie  and  May. 


14 


PITTYPAT  AND  TIPPYTOE 


ALL  day  long  they  come  and  go  — 
. Pittypat  and  Tippytoe; 
Footprints  up  and  down  the  hall. 
Playthings  scattered  on  the  floor, 
Finger-marks  along  the  wall, 
Telltale  smudges  on  the  door — 
By  these  presents  you  shall  know 
Pittypat  and  Tippytoe. 

How  they  riot  at  their  play ! 

And  a dozen  times  a day 

In  they  troop,  demanding  bread — 
Only  buttered  bread  will  do, 

And  that  butter  must  be  spread 
Inches  thick  with  sugar  too ! 

And  I never  can  say  “No, 

Pittypat  and  Tippytoe ! ” 


'5 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Sometimes  there  are  griefs  to  soothe, 
Sometimes  ruffled  brows  to  smooth; 
For  (I  much  regret  to  say) 

Tippytoe  and  Pittypat 
Sometimes  interrupt  their  play 
With  an  internecine  spat; 

Fie,  for  shame ! to  quarrel  so  — 
Pittypat  and  Tippytoe! 

Oh  the  thousand  worrying  things 
Every  day  recurrent  brings! 

Hands  to  scrub  and  hair  to  brush, 
Search  for  playthings  gone  amiss, 
Many  a wee  complaint  to  hush, 
Many  a little  bump  to  kiss; 

Life  seems  one  vain,  fleeting  show 
To  Pittypat  and  Tippytoe! 

And  when  day  is  at  an  end. 

There  are  little  duds  to  mend : 

Little  frocks  are  strangely  torn, 
Little  shoes  great  holes  reveal, 
Little  hose,  but  one  day  worn, 
Rudely  yawn  at  toe  and  heel! 
Who  but  you  could  work  such  woe, 
Pittypat  and  Tippytoe  ? 

16 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


But  when  comes  this  thought  to  me: 
“Some  there  are  that  childless  be,” 
Stealing  to  their  little  beds, 

With  a love  1 cannot  speak, 

Tenderly  I stroke  their  heads  — 

Fondly  kiss  each  velvet  cheek. 

God  help  those  who  do  not  know 
A Pittypat  or  Tippytoe! 

On  the  floor  and  down  the  hall, 

Rudely  smutched  upon  the  wall, 

There  are  proofs  in  every  kind 
Of  the  havoc  they  have  wrought, 
And  upon  my  heart  you ’d  find 
Just  such  trade-marks,  if  you  sought; 
Oh,  how  glad  I am ’t  is  so, 

Pittypat  and  Tippytoe  1 


‘7 


BALOW,  MY  BONNIE 


HUSH,  bonnie,  dinna  greit; 

Moder  will  rocke  her  sweete, 
Balow,  my  boy! 

When  that  his  toile  ben  done, 
Daddie  will  come  anone, — 

Hush  thee,  my  lyttel  one; 

Balow,  my  boy! 

Gin  thou  dost  sleepe,  perchaunce 
Fayries  will  come  to  daunce, — 
Balow,  my  boy! 

Oft  hath  thy  moder  seene 
Moonlight  and  mirkland  queene 
Daunce  on  thy  slumbering  een, — 
Balow,  my  boy ! 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

Then  droned  a bomblebee 
Saftly  this  songe  to  thee: 

“ Balow,  my  boy! ” 

And  a wee  heather  bell, 

Pluckt  from  a fayry  dell, 

Chimed  thee  this  rune  hersell: 

“ Balow,  my  boy ! ” 

Soe,  bonnie,  dinna  greit; 

Moder  doth  rocke  her  sweete, — 
Balow,  my  boy! 

Give  mee  thy  lyttel  hand, 

Moder  will  hold  it  and 
Lead  thee  to  balow  land, — 
Balow,  my  boy! 


19 


THE  HAWTHORNE  CHILDREN 


THE  Hawthorne  children — seven  in  all  — 
Are  famous  friends  of  mine, 

And  with  what  pleasure  1 recall 
How,  years  ago,  one  gloomy  fall, 

1 took  a tedious  railway  line 
And  journeyed  by  slow  stages  down 
Unto  that  sleepy  seaport  town 
(Albeit  one  worth  seeing), 

Where  Hildegarde,  John,  Henry,  Fred, 
And  Beatrix  and  Gwendolen 
And  she  that  was  the  baby  then  — 

These  famous  seven,  as  aforesaid. 

Lived,  moved,  and  had  their  being. 

The  Hawthorne  children  gave  me  such 
A welcome  by  the  sea, 

That  the  eight  of  us  were  soon  in  touch, 
And  though  their  mother  marveled  much, 
Happy  as  larks  were  we! 


20 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Egad  I was  a boy  again 

With  Henry,  John,  and  Gwendolen! 

And,  oh!  the  funny  capers 
I cut  with  Hildegarde  and  Fred! 

The  pranks  we  heedless  children  played, 
The  deafening,  awful  noise  we  made  — 

’T  would  shock  my  family,  if  they  read 
About  it  in  the  papers! 

The  Hawthorne  children  all  were  smart; 

The  girls,  as  1 recall, 

Had  comprehended  every  art 
Appealing  to  the  head  and  heart, 

The  boys  were  gifted,  all; 

’T  was  Hildegarde  who  showed  me  how 
To  hitch  the  horse  and  milk  a cow 
And  cook  the  best  of  suppers; 

With  Beatrix  upon  the  sands 
I sprinted  daily,  and  was  beat, 

While  Henry  stumped  me  to  the  feat 
Of  walking  round  upon  my  hands 
Instead  of  on  my  “uppers.” 

The  Hawthorne  children  liked  me  best 
Of  evenings,  after  tea; 

For  then,  by  general  request, 


21 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

I spun  them  yarns  about  the  west  — 

And  all  involving  Me! 

I represented  how  I ’d  slain 

The  bison  on  the  gore-smeared  plain, 

And  divers  tales  of  wonder 
I told  of  how  1 ’d  fought  and  bled 
In  Injun  scrimmages  galore, 

Till  Mrs.  Hawthorne  quoth  “No  more!” 
And  packed  her  darlings  off  to  bed 
To  dream  of  blood  and  thunder! 

They  must  have  changed  a deal  since  then: 
The  misses  tall  and  fair 
And  those  three  lusty,  handsome  men, 
Would  they  be  girls  and  boys  again 
Were  I to  happen  there, 

Down  in  that  spot  beside  the  sea 
Where  we  made  such  tumultuous  glee 
In  dull  autumnal  weather  ? 

Ah  me!  the  years  go  swiftly  by, 

And  yet  how  fondly  I recall 
The  week  when  we  were  children  all  — 
Dear  Hawthorne  children,  you  and  I — 
Just  eight  of  us,  together! 


32 


LITTLE  BLUE  PIGEON 


SLEEP,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings — 
Little  blue  pigeon  with  velvet  eyes; 
Sleep  to  the  singing  of  mother-bird  swing- 
ing— 

Swinging  the  nest  where  her  little  one  lies. 

Away  out  yonder  I see  a star  — 

Silvery  star  with  a tinkling  song; 

To  the  soft  dew  falling  I hear  it  calling  — 
Calling  and  tinkling  the  night  along. 

In  through  the  window  a moonbeam  comes — 
Little  gold  moonbeam  with  misty  wings; 
All  silently  creeping,  it  asks:  “Is  he  sleep- 
ing— 

Sleeping  and  dreaming  while  mother 
sings  ? ” 


23 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

Up  from  the  sea  there  floats  the  sob 
Of  the  waves  that  are  breaking  upon  the 
shore, 

As  though  they  were  groaning  in  anguish, 
and  moaning  — 

Bemoaning  the  ship  that  shall  come  no 
more. 

But  sleep,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings  — 
Little  blue  pigeon  with  mournful  eyes ; 

Am  I not  singing?  — see,  I am  swinging  — 
Swinging  the  nest  where  my  darling  lies. 


24 


THE  LYTTEL  BOY 


SOME  time  there  ben  a lyttel  boy 
That  wolde  not  renne  and  play, 
And  helpless  like  that  little  tyke 
Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 

“Goe,  make  you  merrie  with  the  rest,” 
His  weary  moder  cried ; 

But  with  a frown  he  catcht  her  gown 
And  hong  untill  her  side. 

That  boy  did  love  his  moder  well, 
Which  spake  him  faire,  I ween; 

He  loved  to  stand  and  hold  her  hand 
And  ken  her  with  his  een; 

His  cosset  bleated  in  the  croft, 

His  toys  unheeded  lay, — 

He  wolde  not  goe,  but,  tarrying  soe, 
Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 


25 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Godde  loveth  children  and  doth  gird 
His  throne  with  soche  as  these, 

And  he  doth  smile  in  plaisaunce  while 
They  cluster  at  his  knees; 

And  some  time,  when  he  looked  on  earth 
And  watched  the  bairns  at  play, 

He  kenned  with  joy  a lyttel  boy 
Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 

And  then  a moder  felt  her  heart 
How  that  it  ben  to-torne, 

She  kissed  eche  day  till  she  ben  gray 
The  shoon  he  use  to  worn ; 

No  bairn  let  hold  untill  her  gown 
Nor  played  upon  the  floore, — 

Godde’s  was  the  joy;  a lyttel  boy 
Ben  in  the  way  no  more ! 


2 6 


TEENY-WEENY 


EVERY  evening,  after  tea, 
Teeny-Weeny  comes  to  me, 

And,  astride  my  willing  knee, 

Plies  his  lash  and  rides  away  \ 

Though  that  palfrey,  all  too  spate. 

Finds  his  burden  hard  to  bear, 
Teeny-Weeny  does  n’t  care; 

He  commands,  and  I obey! 

First  it ’s  trot,  and  gallop  then; 

Now  it ’s  back  to  trot  again ; 
Teeny-Weeny  likes  it  when 
He  is  riding  fierce  and  fast. 

Then  his  dark  eyes  brighter  grow 
And  his  cheeks  are  all  aglow : 

“ More!  ” he  cries,  and  never  “ Whoa!  ” 
Till  the  horse  breaks  down  at  last. 


27 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Oh,  the  strange  and  lovely  sights 
Teeny-Weeny  sees  of  nights, 

As  he  makes  those  famous  flights 
On  that  wondrous  horse  of  his! 
Oftentimes  before  he  knows, 
Wearylike  his  eyelids  close, 

And,  still  smiling,  off  he  goes 
Where  the  land  of  By-low  is. 

There  he  sees  the  folk  of  fay 
Hard  at  ring-a-rosie  play, 

And  he  hears  those  fairies  say: 

“ Come,  let ’s  chase  him  to  and  fro! ” 
But,  with  a defiant  shout, 

Teeny  puts  that  host  to  rout; 

Of  this  tale  I make  no  doubt, 

Every  night  he  tells  it  so. 

So  I feel  a tender  pride 
In  my  boy  who  dares  to  ride 
That  fierce  horse  of  his  astride. 

Off  into  those  misty  lands; 

And  as  on  my  breast  he  lies, 
Dreaming  in  that  wondrous  wise, 

I caress  his  folded  eyes, 

Pat  his  little  dimpled  hands. 

38 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

On  a time  he  went  away, 

Just  a little  while  to  stay, 

And  I ’m  not  ashamed  to  say 
I was  very  lonely  then ; 

Life  without  him  was  so  sad, 

You  can  fancy  I was  glad 
And  made  merry  when  I had 
Teeny-Weeny  back  again! 

So  of  evenings,  after  tea, 

When  he  toddles  up  to  me 
And  goes  tugging  at  my  knee, 

You  should  hear  his  palfrey  neigh! 
You  should  see  him  prance  and  shy, 
When,  with  an  exulting  cry, 
Teeny-Weeny,  vaulting  high, 

Plies  his  lash  and  rides  away ! 


29 


NELLIE 


HIS  listening  soul  hears  no  echo  of  battle, 
No  psean  of  triumph  nor  welcome  of 
fame; 

But  down  through  the  years  comes  a little 
one’s  prattle, 

And  softly  he  murmurs  her  idolized  name. 
And  it  seems  as  if  now  at  his  heart  she  were 
clinging 

As  she  clung  in  those  dear,  distant  years 
to  his  knee ; 

He  sees  her  fair  face,  and  he  hears  her  sweet 
singing  — 

And  Nellie  is  coming  from  over  the  sea. 

While  each  patriot’s  hope  stays  the  fullness 
of  sorrow, 

While  our  eyes  are  bedimmed  and  our 
voices  are  low, 


30 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


He  dreams  of  the  daughter  who  comes  with 
the  morrow 

Like  an  angel  come  back  from  the  dear 
long  ago. 

Ah,  what  to  him  now  is  a nation’s  emotion, 
And  what  for  our  love  or  our  grief  careth 
he? 

A swift-speeding  ship  is  a-sail  on  the  ocean, 
And  Nellie  is  coming  from  over  the  sea! 

O daughter — my  daughter!  when  Death 
stands  before  me 

And  beckons  me  off  to  that  far  misty 
shore, 

Let  me  see  your  loved  form  bending  ten- 
derly o’er  me, 

And  feel  your  dear  kiss  on  my  lips  as  of 
yore. 

In  the  grace  of  your  love  all  my  anguish 
abating, 

I ’ll  bear  myself  bravely  and  proudly  as  he, 
And  know  the  sweet  peace  that  hallowed 
his  waiting 

When  Nellie  was  coming  from  over  the 
sea. 


Ji 


NORSE  LULLABY 


THE  sky  is  dark  and  the  hills  are  white 
As  the  storm-king  speeds  from  the 
north  to-night; 

And  this  is  the  song  the  storm-king  sings, 
As  over  the  world  his  cloak  he  flings : 

“ Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ” ; 

He  rustles  his  wings  and  gruffly  sings: 
“Sleep,  little  one,  sleep.” 

On  yonder  mountain-side  a vine 
Clings  at  the  foot  of  a mother  pine; 

The  tree  bends  over  the  trembling  thing, 
And  only  the  vine  can  hear  her  sing: 
“Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  — 

What  shall  you  fear  when  I am  here  ? 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep.” 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  king  may  sing  in  his  bitter  flight, 
The  tree  may  croon  to  the  vine  to-night, 
But  the  little  snowflake  at  my  breast 
Liketh  the  song  / sing  the  best  — 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep; 

Weary  thou  art,  a-next  my  heart 
Sleep,  little  one,  sleep. 


33 


GRANDMA’S  PRAYER 


I PRAY  that,  risen  from  the  dead, 
I may  in  glory  stand  — 

A crown,  perhaps,  upon  my  head, 
But  a needle  in  my  hand. 

1 ’ve  never  learned  to  sing  or  play, 
So  let  no  harp  be  mine; 

From  birth  unto  my  dying  day, 
Plain  sewing ’s  been  my  line. 

Therefore,  accustomed  to  the  end 
To  plying  useful  stitches, 

I ’ll  be  content  if  asked  to  mend 
The  little  angels’  breeches. 


34 


SOME  TIME 


LAST  night,  my  darling,  as  you  slept, 

I thought  1 heard  you  sigh, 

And  to  your  little  crib  I crept, 

And  watched  a space  thereby ; 

Then, bending  down,  I kissed  your  brow — 
For,  oh ! I love  you  so  — 

You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 

But  some  time  you  shall  know. 

Some  time,  when,  in  a darkened  place 
Where  others  come  to  weep, 

Your  eyes  shall  see  a weary  face 
Calm  in  eternal  sleep; 

The  speechless  lips,  the  wrinkled  brow, 
The  patient  smile  may  show  — 

You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 

But  some  time  you  shall  know. 


35 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Look  backward,  then,  into  the  years. 
And  see  me  here  to-night — 

See,  O my  darling!  how  my  tears 
Are  falling  as  I write ; 

And  feel  once  more  upon  your  brow 
The  kiss  of  long  ago  — 

You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 
But  some  time  you  shall  know. 


.36 


THE  FIRE-HANGBIRD’S  NEST 


AS  I am  sitting  in  the  sun  upon  the  porch 

l\  to-day, 

I look  with  wonder  at  the  elm  that  stands 
across  the  way ; 

I say  and  mean  “ with  wonder,”  for  now  it 
seems  to  me 

That  elm  is  not  as  tall  as  years  ago  it  used 
to  be! 

The  old  fire-hangbird ’s  built  her  nest  therein 
for  many  springs — 

High  up  amid  the  sportive  winds  the  curious 
cradle  swings, 

But  not  so  high  as  when  a little  boy  I did 
my  best 

To  scale  that  elm  and  carry  off  the  old  fire- 
hangbird’s  nest! 


37 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

The  Hubbard  boys  had  tried  in  vain  to  reach 
the  homely  prize 

That  dangled  from  that  upper  outer  twig  in 
taunting  wise. 

And  once,  when  Deacon  Turner’s  boy  had 
almost  grasped  the  limb, 

He  fell!  and  had  to  have  a doctor  operate 
on  him! 

Philetus  Baker  broke  his  leg  and  Orrin  Root 
his  arm  — 

But  what  of  that?  The  danger  gave  the 
sport  a special  charm! 

The  Bixby  and  the  Cutler  boys,  the  New- 
tons and  the  rest 

Ran  every  risk  to  carry  off  the  old  fire-hang- 
bird’s  nest! 


I can  remember  that  I used  to  knee  my 
trousers  through, 

That  mother  used  to  wonder  how  my  legs 
got  black  and  blue, 

And  how  she  used  to  talk  to  me  and  make 
stern  threats  when  she 

Discovered  that  my  hobby  was  the  nest  in 
yonder  tree; 


38 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


How,  as  she  patched  my  trousers  or  greased 
my  purple  legs, 

She  told  me ’t  would  be  wicked  to  destroy 
a hangbird’s  eggs, 

And  then  she ’d  call  on  father  and  on  gran’pa 
to  attest 

That  they,  as  boys,  had  never  robbed  an 
old  fire-hangbird’s  nest! 


Yet  all  those  years  I coveted  the  trophy 
flaunting  there, 

While,  as  it  were  in  mockery  of  my  abject 
despair, 

The  old  fire-hangbird  confidently  used  to 
come  and  go, 

As  if  she  were  indifferent  to  the  bandit  horde 
below! 

And  sometimes  clinging  to  her  nest  we 
thought  we  heard  her  chide 

The  callow  brood  whose  cries  betrayed  the 
fear  that  reigned  inside : 

“Hush,  little  dears!  all  profitless  shall  be 
their  wicked  quest  — 

1 knew  my  business  when  I built  the  old 
fire-hangbird’s  nest!” 


39 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


For  many,  very  many  years  that  mother-bird 
has  come 

To  rear  her  pretty  little  brood  within  that 
cozy  home. 

She  is  the  selfsame  bird  of  old  — I ’m  certain 
it  is  she  — 

Although  the  chances  are  that  she  has  quite 
forgotten  me. 

Just  as  of  old  that  prudent,  crafty  bird  of 
compound  name 

(And  in  parenthesis  I ’ll  say  her  nest  is  still 
the  same) ; 

Just  as  of  old  the  passion,  too,  that  fires  the 
youthful  breast 

To  climb  unto  and  comprehend  the  old  fire- 
hangbird’s  nest! 


I like  to  see  my  old-time  friend  swing  in  that 
ancient  tree, 

And,  if  the  elm ’s  as  tall  and  sturdy  as  it  used 
to  be, 

I ’m  sure  that  many  a year  that  nest  shall  in 
the  breezes  blow, 

For  boys  are  n’t  what  they  used  to  be  a forty 
years  ago! 


40 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

The  elm  looks  shorter  than  it  did  when  bro- 
ther Rufe  and  1 

Beheld  with  envious  hearts  that  trophy 
flaunted  from  on  high; 

He  writes  that  in  the  city  where  he  ’$  living 
’way  out  West 

His  little  boys  have  never  seen  an  old  fire- 
hangbird’s  nest! 


Poor  little  chaps!  how  lonesomelike  their 
city  life  must  be  — 

I wish  they ’d  come  and  live  awhile  in  this 
old  house  with  me! 

They ’d  have  the  honest  friends  and  healthful 
sports  I used  to  know 

When  brother  Rufe  and  I were  boys  a forty 
years  ago. 

So,  when  they  grew  from  romping  lads  to 
busy,  useful  men. 

They  could  recall  with  proper  pride  their 
country  life  again; 

And  of  those  recollections  of  their  youth 
I ’m  sure  the  best 

Would  be  of  how  they  sought  in  vain  the 
old  fire-hangbird’s  nest! 


4' 


BUTTER-CUP,  POPPY,  FORGET- 
ME-NOT 


BUTTERCUP,  Poppy,  Forget-me-not  — 
These  three  bloomed  in  a garden  spot ; 
And  once,  all  merry  with  song  and  play, 

A little  one  heard  three  voices  say : 

“Shine  and  shadow,  summer  and  spring, 
O thou  child  with  the  tangled  hair 
And  laughing  eyes!  we  three  shall  bring 
Each  an  offering  passing  fair.” 

The  little  one  did  not  understand, 

But  they  bent  and  kissed  the  dimpled  hand. 

Buttercup  gamboled  all  day  long, 

Sharing  the  little  one’s  mirth  and  song; 
Then,  stealing  along  on  misty  gleams, 
Poppy  came  bearing  the  sweetest  dreams. 
Playing  and  dreaming  — and  that  was  all 
Till  once  a sleeper  would  not  awake; 


42 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Kissing  the  little  face  under  the  pall, 

We  thought  of  the  words  the  third  flower 
spake; 

And  we  found  betimes  in  a hallowed  spot 
The  solace  and  peace  of  Forget-me-not. 

Buttercup  shareth  the  joy  of  day, 

Glinting  with  gold  the  hours  of  play; 
Bringeth  the  Poppy  sweet  repose, 

When  the  hands  would  fold  and  the  eyes 
would  close; 

And  after  it  all  — the  play  and  the  sleep 
Of  a little  life  — what  cometh  then  ? 

To  the  hearts  that  ache  and  the  eyes  that 
weep 

A new  flower  bringeth  God’s  peace  again. 
Each  one  serveth  its  tender  lot  — 

Buttercup,  Poppy,  Forget-me-not. 


43 


WYNKEN,  BLYNKEN,  AND  NOD 


WYNKEN,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 
Sailed  off  in  a wooden  shoe— 
Sailed  on  a river  of  crystal  light, 

Into  a sea  of  dew. 

“Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you 
wish?” 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 

“We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring  fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea; 

Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we!  ” 

Said  Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 


L 


44 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  old  moon  laughed  and  sang  a song, 

As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe, 

And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 
Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew. 

The  little  stars  were  the  herring  fish 
That  lived  in  that  beautiful  sea — 

“ Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish  — 
Never  afeard  are  we”; 

So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three; 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 
To  the  stars  in  the  twinkling  foam  — 
Then  down  from  the  skies  came  the  wooden 
shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home; 

’T  was  all  so  pretty  a sail  it  seemed 
As  if  it  could  not  be, 

And  some  folks  thought  't  was  a dream 
they ’d  dreamed 
Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea  — 

But  I shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three: 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 


45 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 
And  Nod  is  a little  head, 

And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 
Is  a wee  one’s  trundle-bed. 

So  shut  your  eyes  while  mother  sings 
Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 

And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 
As  you  rock  in  the  misty  sea, 

Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen 
three : 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 


46 


GOLD  AND  LOVE  FOR  DEARIE 


UT  on  the  mountain  over  the  town, 


All  night  long,  all  night  long, 

The  trolls  go  up  and  the  trolls  go  down, 
Bearing  their  packs  and  singing  a song; 
And  this  is  the  song  the  hill-folk  croon, 

As  they  trudge  in  the  light  of  the  misty 
moon  — 

This  is  ever  their  dolorous  tune : 

“Gold,  gold!  ever  more  gold  — 

Bright  red  gold  for  dearie ! ” 

Deep  in  the  hill  a father  delves 
All  night  long,  all  night  long; 

None  but  the  peering,  furtive  elves 
Sees  his  toil  and  hears  his  song; 

Merrily  ever  the  cavern  rings 
As  merrily  ever  his  pick  he  swings, 

And  merrily  ever  this  song  he  sings : 

“ Gold,  gold!  ever  more  gold  — 

Bright  red  gold  for  dearie!  ” 


47 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Mother  is  rocking  thy  lowly  bed 
All  night  long,  all  night  long, 

Happy  to  smooth  thy  curly  head, 

To  hold  thy  hand  and  to  sing  her  song: 
’T  is  not  of  the  hill-folk  dwarfed  and  old, 
Nor  the  song  of  thy  father,  stanch  and  bold, 
And  the  burthen  it  beareth  is  not  of  gold : 
But  it ’s  “ Love,  love!  nothing  but  love  — 
Mother’s  love  for  dearie ! ” 


48 


THE  PEACE  OF  CHRISTMAS-TIME 


DEAREST,  how  hard  it  is  to  say 
That  all  is  for  the  best, 

Since,  sometimes,  in  a grievous  way 
God’s  will  is  manifest. 

See  with  what  hearty,  noisy  glee 
Our  little  ones  to-night 
Dance  round  and  round  our  Christmas  tree 
With  pretty  toys  bedight. 

Dearest,  one  voice  they  may  not  hear, 

One  face  they  may  not  see  — 

Ah,  what  of  all  this  Christmas  cheer 
Cometh  to  you  and  me  ? 

Cometh  before  our  misty  eyes 
That  other  little  face, 

And  we  clasp,  in  tender,  reverent  wise, 
That  love  in  the  old  embrace. 


49 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Dearest,  the  Christ-child  walks  to-night, 
Bringing  his  peace  to  men, 

And  he  bringeth  to  you  and  to  me  the  light 
Of  the  old,  old  years  again. 

Bringeth  the  peace  of  long  ago, 

When  a wee  one  clasped  your  knee 
And  lisped  of  the  morrow  — dear  one,  you 
know  — 

And  here  come  back  is  he! 

Dearest,  ’t  is  sometimes  hard  to  say 
That  all  is  for  the  best, 

For,  often,  in  a grievous  way 
God’s  will  is  manifest. 

But  in  the  grace  of  this  holy  night 
That  bringeth  us  back  our  child, 

Let  us  see  that  the  ways  of  God  are  right, 
And  so  be  reconciled. 


50 


U.  OF  ILL  LIB. 


TO  A LITTLE  BROOK 


YOU  ’RE  not  so  big  as  you  were  then, 
O little  brook!  — 

I mean  those  hazy  summers  when 
We  boys  roamed,  full  of  awe,  beside 
Your  noisy,  foaming,  tumbling  tide, 

And  wondered  if  it  could  be  true 
That  there  were  bigger  brooks  than  you, 
O mighty  brook,  O peerless  brook ! 

All  up  and  down  this  reedy  place 
Where  lives  the  brook, 

We  angled  for  the  furtive  dace; 

The  redwing-blackbird  did  his  best 
To  make  us  think  he ’d  buiit  his  nest 
Hard  by  the  stream,  when,  like  as  not, 

He ’d  hung  it  in  a secret  spot 
Far  from  the  brook,  the  telltale  brook ! 

5' 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  often,  when  the  noontime  heat 
Parboiled  the  brook, 

We ’d  draw  our  boots  and  swing  our  feet 
Upon  the  waves  that,  in  their  play, 

Would  tag  us  last  and  scoot  away; 

And  mother  never  seemed  to  know 
What  burnt  our  legs  and  chapped  them  so  — 
But  father  guessed  it  was  the  brook! 

And  Fido — how  he  loved  to  swim 
The  cooling  brook, 

Whenever  we ’d  throw  sticks  for  him  ; 

And  how  we  boys  did  wish  that  we 
Could  only  swim  as  good  as  he  — 

Why,  Daniel  Webster  never  was 
Recipient  of  such  great  applause 
As  Fido,  battling  with  the  brook ! 

But  once  — O most  unhappy  day 
For  you,  my  brook!  — 

Came  Cousin  Sam  along  that  way; 

And,  having  lived  a spell  out  West, 

Where  creeks  are  n’t  counted  much  at  best, 
He  neither  waded,  swam,  nor  leapt, 

But,  with  superb  indifference,  slept 
Across  that  brook — our  mighty  brook! 


52 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Why  do  you  scamper  on  your  way, 

You  little  brook, 

When  1 come  back  to  you  to-day  ? 

Is  it  because  you  flee  the  grass 
That  lunges  at  you  as  you  pass, 

As  if,  in  playful  mood,  it  would 
Tickle  the  truant  if  it  could, 

You  chuckling  brook  — you  saucy  brook  ? 

Or  is  it  you  no  longer  know  — 

You  fickle  brook  — 

The  honest  friend  of  long  ago  ? 

The  years  that  kept  us  twain  apart 
Have  changed  my  face,  but  not  my  heart  — 
Many  and  sore  those  years,  and  yet 
I fancied  you  could  not  forget 
That  happy  time,  my  playmate  brook! 

Oh,  sing  again  in  artless  glee, 

My  little  brook, 

The  song  you  used  to  sing  for  me  — 

The  song  that ’s  lingered  in  my  ears 
So  soothingly  these  many  years ; 

My  grief  shall  be  forgotten  when 
I hear  your  tranquil  voice  again 

And  that  sweet  song,  dear  little  brook ! 


53 


CROODLIN’  DOO 


HO,  pretty  bee,  did  you  see  my  croodlin’ 
doo  ? 

Ho,  little  lamb,  is  she  jinkin’  on  the  lea  ? 
Ho,  bonnie  fairy,  bring  my  dearie  back 
to  me  — 

Got  a lump  o’  sugar  an’  a posie  for  you, 
Only  bring  me  back  my  wee,  wee  croodlin’ 
doo! 

Why!  here  you  are,  my  little  croodlin’  doo! 
Looked  in  er  cradle,  but  did  n’t  find 
you  there  — 

Looked  f’r  my  wee,  wee  croodlin’  doo 
ever’where; 

Be’n  kind  lonesome  all  er  day  withouten 
you  — 

Where  you  be’n,  my  teeny,  wee,  wee  crood- 
lin’ doo  ? 


54 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Now  you  go  balow,  my  little  croodlin’  doo; 
Now  you  go  rockaby  ever  so  far, — 
Rockaby,  rockaby  up  to  the  star 
That  ’s  winkin’  an’  blinkin’  an’  singin’  to 
you, 

As  you  go  balow,  my  wee,  wee  croodlin’ 
doo! 


55 


LITTLE  MISTRESS  SANS-MERCI 


IITTLE  Mistress  Sans-Merci 
j Fareth  world-wide,  fancy  free : 
Trotteth  cooing  to  and  fro, 

And  her  cooing  is  command  — 
Never  ruled  there  yet,  I trow, 
Mightier  despot  in  the  land. 

And  my  heart  it  lieth  where 
Mistress  Sans-Merci  doth  fare. 

Little  Mistress  Sans-Merci  — 

She  hath  made  a slave  of  me! 

“Go,”  she  biddeth,  and  I go  — 
“Come,”  and  I am  fain  to  come  — 
Never  mercy  doth  she  show, 

Be  she  wroth  or  frolicsome, 

Yet  am  I content  to  be 
Slave  to  Mistress  Sans-Merci ! 

56 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

Little  Mistress  Sans-Merci 
Hath  become  so  dear  to  me 
That  1 count  as  passing  sweet 
All  the  pain  her  moods  impart, 
And  I bless  the  little  feet 
That  go  trampling  on  my  heart: 
Ah,  how  lonely  life  would  be 
But  for  little  Sans-Merci ! 

Little  Mistress  Sans-Merci, 

Cuddle  close  this  night  to  me, 

And  the  heart,  which  all  day  long 
Ruthless  thou  hast  trod  upon, 
Shall  outpour  a soothing  song 
For  its  best  beloved  one  — 

All  its  tenderness  for  thee, 

Little  Mistress  Sans-Merci! 


57 


LONG  AGO 


I ONCE  knew  all  the  birds  that  came 
And  nested  in  our  orchard  trees, 

For  every  flower  1 had  a name — 

My  friends  were  woodchucks,  toads,  and 
bees; 

I knew  where  thrived  in  yonder  glen 
What  plants  would  soothe  a stone-bruised 
toe — 

Oh,  I was  very  learned  then, 

But  that  was  very  long  ago. 

1 knew  the  spot  upon  the  hill 
Where  checkerberries  could  be  found, 

I knew  the  rushes  near  the  mill 
Where  pickerel  lay  that  weighed  a pound ! 
1 knew  the  wood — the  very  tree 

Where  lived  the  poaching,  saucy  crow, 
And  all  the  woods  and  crows  knew  me — 
But  that  was  very  long  ago. 

58 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  pining  for  the  joys  of  youth, 

I tread  the  old  familiar  spot 
Only  to  learn  this  solemn  truth : 

I have  forgotten,  am  forgot. 

Yet  here ’s  this  youngster  at  my  knee 
Knows  all  the  things  1 used  to  know; 
To  think  1 once  was  wise  as  he! — 

But  that  was  very  long  ago. 

I know  it ’s  folly  to  complain 
Of  whatsoe’er  the  fates  decree, 

Yet,  were  not  wishes  all  in  vain, 

I tell  you  what  my  wish  should  be : 

I ’d  wish  to  be  a boy  again, 

Back  with  the  friends  I used  to  know. 
For  I was,  oh,  so  happy  then  — 

But  that  was  very  long  ago ! 


59 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 


THE  fire  upon  the  hearth  is  low. 

And  there  is  stillness  everywhere, 

And,  like  wing’d  spirits,  here  and  there 
The  firelight  shadows  fluttering  go. 

And  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 

A childish  treble  breaks  the  gloom, 

And  softly  from  a further  room 
Comes:  “Now  I lay  me  down  to  sleep.” 

And,  somehow,  with  that  little  pray’r 
And  that  sweet  treble  in  my  ears, 

My  thought  goes  back  to  distant  years, 
And  lingers  with  a dear  one  there; 

And  as  I hear  my  child’s  amen, 

My  mother’s  faith  comes  back  to  me  — 
Crouched  at  her  side  I seem  to  be, 

And  mother  holds  my  hands  again. 

6 o 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Oh,  for  an  hour  in  that  dear  place  — 

Oh,  for  the  peace  of  that  dear  time  — 
Oh,  for  that  childish  trust  sublime  — 
Oh,  for  a glimpse  of  mother’s  face! 

Yet,  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 

1 do  not  seem  to  be  alone  — 

Sweet  magic  of  that  treble  tone 
And  “Now  1 lay  me  down  to  sleep!  ” 


6i 


COBBLER  AND  STORK 


Cobbler 

STORK,  I am  justly  wroth, 

For  thou  hast  wronged  me  sore 
The  ash  roof-tree  that  shelters  thee 
Shall  shelter  thee  no  more ! 

Stork 

Full  fifty  years  I ’ve  dwelt 
Upon  this  honest  tree, 

And  long  ago  (as  people  know!) 

1 brought  thy  father  thee. 

What  hail  hath  chilled  thy  heart. 
That  thou  shouldst  bid  me  go  ? 
Speak  out,  I pray — then  I ’ll  away, 
Since  thou  commandest  so. 


62 


W5TH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

Cobbler 

Thou  tellest  of  the  time 
When,  wheeling  from  the  west, 

This  hut  thou  sought’st  and  one  thou 
brought’st 

Unto  a mother’s  breast. 

/ was  the  wretched  child 
Was  fetched  that  dismal  morn  — 

'T  were  better  die  than  be  (as  1) 

To  life  of  misery  born! 

And  hadst  thou  borne  me  on 
Still  farther  up  the  town, 

A king  I ’d  be  of  high  degree, 

And  wear  a golden  crown ! 

For  yonder  lives  the  prince 
Was  brought  that  selfsame  day: 

How  happy  he,  while — look  at  me! 

1 toil  my  life  away ! 

And  see  my  little  boy — 

To  what  estate  he ’s  born! 

Why,  when  I die  no  hoard  leave  I 
But  poverty  and  scorn. 

And  thou  hast  done  it  all  — 

I might  have  been  a king 
And  ruled  in  state,  but  for  thy  hate, 
Thou  base,  perfidious  thing! 

63 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Stork 

Since,  cobbler,  thou  dost  speak 
Of  one  thou  Iovest  well, 

Hear  of  that  king  what  grievous  thing 
This  very  morn  befell. 

Whilst  round  thy  homely  bench 
Thy  well-beloved  played, 

In  yonder  hall  beneath  a pall 
A little  one  was  laid ; 

Thy  well-beloved’s  face 
Was  rosy  with  delight, 

But  ’neath  that  pall  in  yonder  hall 
The  little  face  is  white ; 

Whilst  by  a merry  voice 
Thy  soul  is  filled  with  cheer, 
Another  weeps  for  one  that  sleeps 
All  mute  and  cold  anear; 

One  father  hath  his  hope, 

And  one  is  childless  now; 

He  wears  a crown  and  rules  a town  — 
Only  a cobbler  thou  ! 

Wouldst  thou  exchange  thy  lot 
At  price  of  such  a woe  ? 

I ’ll  nest  no  more  above  thy  door, 

But,  as  thou  bidst  me,  go. 

64 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Cobbler 

Nay,  stork ! thou  shalt  remain  — 

I mean  not  what  1 said ; 

Good  neighbors  we  must  always  be, 
So  make  thy  home  o’erhead. 

I would  not  change  my  bench 
For  any  monarch’s  throne, 

Nor  sacrifice  at  any  price 
My  darling  and  my  own ! 

Stork!  on  my  roof-tree  bide, 

That,  seeing  thee  anear, 

I ’ll  thankful  be  God  sent  by  thee 
Me  and  my  darling  here! 


65 


“LOLLYBY,  LOLLY,  LOLLYBY” 


LAST  night,  whiles  that  the  curfew  bell 
a ben  ringing, 

I heard  a rnoder  to  her  dearie  singing 
“ Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby”; 

And  presently  that  chylde  did  cease  hys 
weeping, 

And  on  his  moder’s  breast  did  fall  a-sleeping 
To  “lolly,  lolly,  lollyby.” 

Faire  ben  the  chylde  unto  his  rnoder  clinging, 
But  fairer  yet  the  moder’s  gentle  singing  — 
“Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby”; 

And  angels  came  and  kisst  the  dearie  smiling 
In  dreems  while  him  hys  rnoder  ben  be- 
guiling 

With  “lolly,  lolly,  lollyby.” 

66 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Then  to  my  harte  saies  I:  “Oh,  that  thy 
beating 

Colde  be  assuaged  by  some  sweete  voice 
repeating 

‘ Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby’; 

That  like  this  lyttel  chylde  I,  too,  ben  sleep- 
ing 

With  plaisaunt  phantasies  about  me  creeping, 
To  ‘lolly,  lolly,  lollyby’!” 

Some  time  — mayhap  when  curfew  bells 
are  ringing  — 

A weary  harte  shall  heare  straunge  voices 
singing 

“Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby”; 

Some  time,  mayhap,  with  Chryst’s  love 
round  me  streaming, 

1 shall  be  lulled  into  eternal  dreeming, 

With  “lolly,  lolly,  lollyby.” 


67 


LIZZIE  AND  THE  BABY 


I WONDER  ef  all  wimmin  air 
Like  Lizzie  is  when  we  go  out 
To  theaters  an’  concerts  where 
Is  things  the  papers  talk  about. 

Do  other  wimmin  fret  an’  stew 
Like  they  wuz  bein’  crucified  — 
Frettin’  a show  or  concert  through, 

With  wonderin’  ef  the  baby  cried  ? 

Now  Lizzie  knows  that  gran’ma ’s  there 
To  see  that  everything  is  right, 

Yet  Lizzie  thinks  that  gran’ma’s  care 
Ain’t  good  enuff  f’r  baby,  quite; 

Yet  what  am  I to  answer  when 
She  kind  uv  fidgets  at  my  side, 

An’  asks  me  every  now  and  then : 

“I  wonder  ef  the  baby  cried  ?’ 

68 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Seems  like  she  seen  two  little  eyes 
A-pinin’  f’r  their  mother’s  smile  — 
Seems  like  she  heern  the  pleadin’  cries 
Uv  one  she  thinks  uv  all  the  while; 
An’  so  she ’s  sorry  that  she  come, 

An’  though  she  alius  tries  to  hide 
The  truth,  she ’d  ruther  stay  to  hum 
Than  wonder  ef  the  baby  cried. 

Yes,  wimmin  folks  is  all  alike  — 

By  Lizzie  you  kin  jedge  the  rest; 
There  never  wuz  a little  tyke, 

But  that  his  mother  loved  him  best. 
And  nex’  to  bein’  what  I be  — 

The  husband  uv  my  gentle  bride  — 
I ’d  wisht  I wuz  that  croodlin’  wee, 
With  Lizzie  wonderin’  ef  1 cried. 


69 


AT  THE  DOOR 


I THOUGHT  myself,  indeed,  secure, 
So  fast  the  door,  so  firm  the  lock; 
But,  lo!  he  toddling  comes  to  lure 
My  parent  ear  with  timorous  knock. 

My  heart  were  stone  could  it  withstand 
The  sweetness  of  my  baby’s  plea, — 
That  timorous,  baby  knocking  and 
“ Please  let  me  in, — it ’s  only  me.” 

1 threw  aside  the  unfinished  book, 
Regardless  of  its  tempting  charms, 
And,  opening  wide  the  door,  I took 
My  laughing  darling  in  my  arms. 

Who  knows  but  in  Eternity, 

I,  like  a truant  child,  shall  wait 
The  glories  of  a life  to  be, 

Beyond  the  Heavenly  Father’s  gate  ? 


70 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  will  that  Heavenly  Father  heed 
The  truant’s  supplicating  cry, 

As  at  the  outer  door  I plead, 

“’T  is  I,  O Father!  only  1”? 


» 


7< 


HUGO’S  “CHILD  AT  PLAY” 


A CHILD  was  singing  at  his  play  — 

I heard  the  song,  and  paused  to  hear 
His  mother  moaning,  groaning  lay, 

And,  lo!  a spectre  stood  anear! 

The  child  shook  sunlight  from  his  hair, 
And  carolled  gaily  all  day  long  — 

Ay,  with  that  spectre  gloating  there, 

The  innocent  made  mirth  and  song! 

How  like  to  harvest  fruit  wert  thou, 

O sorrow,  in  that  dismal  room  — 

God  Iadeth  not  the  tender  bough 
Save  with  the  joy  of  bud  and  bloom ! 


72 


HI-SPY 


STRANGE  that  the  city  thoroughfare, 
Noisy  and  bustling  all  the  day, 
Should  with  the  night  renounce  its  care 
And  lend  itself  to  children’s  play ! 

Oh,  girls  are  girls,  and  boys  are  boys, 
And  have  been  so  since  Abel’s  birth, 
And  shall  be  so  till  dolls  and  toys 
Are  with  the  children  swept  from  earth. 

The  selfsame  sport  that  crowns  the  day 
Of  many  a Syrian  shepherd’s  son, 
Beguiles  the  little  lads  at  play 
By  night  in  stately  Babylon. 

I hear  their  voices  in  the  street, 

Yet ’t  is  so  different  now  from  then! 
Come,  brother!  from  your  winding-sheet, 
And  let  us  two  be  boys  again ! 


73 


LITTLE  BOY  BLUE 


THE  little  toy  dog  is  covered  with  dust. 

But  sturdy  and  stanch  he  stands ; 

And  the  little  toy  soldier  is  red  with  rust, 
And  his  musket  moulds  in  his  hands. 
Time  was  when  the  little  toy  dog  was  new, 
And  the  soldier  was  passing  fair; 

And  that  was  the  time  when  our  Little  Boy 
Blue 

Kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

“Now,  don’t  you  go  till  I come,”  he  said, 

“ And  don’t  you  make  any  noise!  ” 

So,  toddling  off  to  his  trundle-bed, 

He  dreamt  of  the  pretty  toys; 

And,  as  he  was  dreaming,  an  angel  song 
Awakened  our  Little  Boy  Blue  — 

Oh ! the  years  are  many,  the  years  are  long, 
But  the  little  toy  friends  are  true ! 


74 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Ay,  faithful  to  Little  Boy  Blue  they  stand, 
Each  in  the  same  old  place  — 

Awaiting  the  touch  of  a little  hand, 

The  smile  of  a little  face; 

And  they  wonder,  as  waiting  the  long  years 
through 

In  the  dust  of  that  little  chair, 

What  has  become  of  our  Little  Boy  Blue, 
Since  he  kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 


FATHER’S  LETTER 


I’M  going  to  write  a letter  to  our  oldest 
boy  who  went 

Out  West  last  spring  to  practise  law  and  run 
for  president; 

I ’ll  tell  him  all  the  gossip  I guess  he ’d  like 
to  hear, 

For  he  has  n’t  seen  the  home-folks  for  go- 
ing on  a year! 

Most  generally  it ’s  Marthy  does  the  writing, 
but  as  she 

Is  suffering  with  a felon,  why,  the  job  de- 
volves on  me  — 

So,  when  the  supper  things  are  done  and 
put  away  to-night, 

I ’ll  draw  my  boots  and  shed  my  coat  and 
settle  down  to  write. 

76 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


I ’ll  tell  him  crops  are  looking  up,  with  pros- 
pects big  for  corn, 

That,  fooling  with  the  barnyard  gate,  the 
off-ox  hurt  his  horn; 

That  the  Templar  lodge  is  doing  well — Tim 
Bennett  joined  last  week 

When  the  prohibition  candidate  for  Congress 
came  to  speak; 

That  the  old  gray  woodchuck ’s  living  still 
down  in  the  pasture-lot, 

A-wondering  what ’s  become  of  little  Wil- 
liam, like  as  not! 

Oh,  yes,  there ’s  lots  of  pleasant  things  and 
no  bad  news  to  tell, 

Except  that  old  Bill  Graves  was  sick,  but 
now  he ’s  up  and  well. 


Cy  Cooper  says — (but  1 ’ll  not  pass  my  word 
that  it  is  so, 

For  Cy  he  is  some  punkins  on  spinning 
yarns,  you  know)  — 

He  says  that,  since  the  freshet,  the  pickerel 
are  so  thick 

In  Baker’s  pond  you  can  wade  in  and  kill 
’em  with  a stick! 


77 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  Hubbard  girls  are  teaching  school,  and 
Widow  Cutler’s  Bill 

Has  taken  Eli  Baxter’s  place  in  Luther  East- 
man’s mill; 

Old  Deacon  Skinner’s  dog  licked  Deacon 
Howard’s  dog  last  week, 

And  now  there  are  two  lambkins  in  one 
flock  that  will  not  speak. 


The  yellow  rooster  froze  his  feet,  a-wadin’ 
through  the  snow, 

And  now  he  leans  ag’in’  the  fence  when  he 
starts  in  to  crow; 

The  chestnut  colt  that  was  so  skittish  when 
be  went  away  — 

I ’ve  broke  him  to  the  sulky  and  I drive  him 
every  day! 

We  ’ve  got  pink  window  curtains  for  the 
front  spare-room  up-stairs, 

And  Lizzie ’s  made  new  covers  for  the  parlor 
lounge  and  chairs; 

We ’ve  roofed  the  barn  and  braced  the  elm 
that  has  the  hangbird’s  nest  — 

Oh,  there ’s  been  lots  of  changes  since  our 
William  went  out  West! 

18 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Old  Uncle  Enos  Packard  is  getting  mighty 
gay— 

He  gave  Miss  Susan  Birchard  a peach  the 
other  day ! 

His  late  lamented  Sarah  hain’t  been  buried 
quite  a year, 

So  his  purring  ’round  Miss  Susan  causes 
criticism  here. 

At  the  last  donation  party,  the  minister 
opined 

That,  if  he  ’d  half  suspicioned  what  was 
coming,  he  ’d  resigned; 

For,  though  they  brought  him  slippers  like 
he  was  a centipede, 

His  pantry  was  depleted  by  the  consequential 
feed! 


These  are  the  things  I ’ll  write  him  — our  boy 
that ’s  in  the  West; 

And  1 ’ll  tell  him  how  we  miss  him  — his 
mother  and  the  rest; 

Why,  we  never  have  an  apple-pie  that 
mother  does  n’t  say: 

"He  liked  it  so  — I wish  that  he  could  have 
a piece  to-day ! ” 


79 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


I ’ll  tell  him  we  are  prospering,  and  hope  he 
is  the  same  — 

That  we  hope  he  ’ll  have  no  trouble  getting 
on  to  wealth  and  fame; 

And  just  before  I write  “good-by  from  fa- 
ther and  the  rest,” 

1 ’ll  say  that  “mother  sends  her  love,”  and 
that  will  please  him  best. 

For  when  / went  away  from  home,  the 
weekly  news  I heard 

Was  nothing  to  the  tenderness  1 found  in 
that  one  word  — 

The  sacred  name  of  mother  — why,  even 
now  as  then, 

The  thought  brings  back  the  saintly  face, 
the  gracious  love  again; 

And  in  my  bosom  seems  to  come  a peace 
that  is  divine, 

As  if  an  angel  spirit  communed  awhile  with 
mine; 

And  one  man’s  heart  is  strengthened  by  the 
message  from  above, 

And  earth  seems  nearer  heaven  when  “ mo- 
ther sends  her  love.” 


80 


JEWISH  LULLABY 


MY  harp  is  on  the  willow-tree, 

Else  would  I sing,  O love,  to  thee 
A song  of  long-ago  — 

Perchance  the  song  that  Miriam  sung 
Ere  yet  Judea’s  heart  was  wrung 
By  centuries  of  woe. 

I ate  my  crust  in  tears  to-day, 

As  scourged  I went  upon  my  way  — 
And  yet  my  darling  smiled ; 

Ay,  beating  at  my  breast,  he  laughed  — 
My  anguish  curdled  not  the  draught  — 

T was  sweet  with  love,  my  child! 

The  shadow  of  the  centuries  lies 
Deep  in  thy  dark  and  mournful  eyes  — 
But,  hush!  and  close  them  now; 
And  in  the  dreams  that  thou  shalt  dream 
The  light  of  other  days  shall  seem 
To  glorify  thy  brow! 

Si 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Our  harp  is  on  the  willow-tree — 

1 have  no  song  to  sing  to  thee, 

As  shadows  round  us  roll ; 

But,  hush  and  sleep,  and  thou  shalt  hear 
Jehovah’s  voice  that  speaks  to  cheer 
Judea’s  fainting  soul' 


82 


OUR  WHIPPINGS 


COME,  Harvey,  let  us  sit  awhile  and  talk 
about  the  times 

Before  you  went  to  selling  clothes  and  I to 
peddling  rhymes  — 

The  days  when  we  were  little  boys,  as 
naughty  little  boys 

As  ever  worried  home-folks  with  their  ever- 
lasting noise! 

Egad!  and,  were  we  so  disposed,  I ’ll  ven- 
ture we  could  show 

The  scars  of  wallopings  we  got  some  forty 
years  ago; 

What  wallopings  I mean  I think  I need  not 
specify  — 

Mother’s  whippings  did  n’t  hurt,  but  father’s ! 
oh,  my! 


83 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  way  that  we  played  hookey  those  many 
years  ago — 

We ’d  rather  give  ’most  anything  than  have 
our  children  know! 

The  thousand  naughty  things  we  did,  the 
thousand  fibs  we  told  — 

Why,  thinking  of  them  makes  my  Presbyte- 
rian blood  run  cold! 

How  often  Deacon  Sabine  Morse  remarked 
if  we  were  his 

He ’d  tan  our  “pesky  little  hides  until  the 
blisters  riz!  ” 

It ’s  many  a hearty  thrashing  to  that  Deacon 
Morse  we  owe  — 

Mother’s  whippings  did  n’t  count  — father’s 
did,  though! 


We  used  to  sneak  off  swimmin’  in  those  care- 
less, boyish  days, 

And  come  back  home  of  evenings  with  our 
necks  and  backs  ablaze; 

How  mother  used  to  wonder  why  our  clothes 
were  full  of  sand, 

But  father,  having  been  a boy,  appeared  to 
understand. 


84 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 

And,  after  tea,  he ’d  beckon  us  to  join  him 
in  the  shed 

Where  he ’d  proceed  to  tinge  our  backs  a 
deeper,  darker  red; 

Say  what  we  will  of  mother’s,  there  is  none 
will  controvert 

The  proposition  that  our  father’s  lickings  al- 
ways hurt! 


For  mother  was  by  nature  so  forgiving  and 
so  mild 

That  she  inclined  to  spare  the  rod  although 
she  spoiled  the  child; 

And  when  at  last  in  self-defence  she  had  to 
whip  us,  she 

Appeared  to  feel  those  whippings  a great  deal 
more  than  we! 

But  how  we  bellowed  and  took  on,  as  if  we ’d 
like  to  die  — 

Poor  mother  really  thought  she  hurt,  and 
that ’s  what  made  her  cry ! 

Then  how  we  youngsters  snickered  as  out 
the  door  we  slid, 

For  mother’s  whippings  never  hurt,  though 
father’s  always  did. 

85 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


In  after  years  poor  father  simmered  down  to 
five  feet  four, 

But  in  our  youth  he  seemed  to  us  in  height 
eight  feet  or  more ! 

Oh,  how  we  shivered  when  he  quoth  in  cold, 
suggestive  tone: 

“I  ’ll  see  you  in  the  woodshed  after  supper 
all  alone!  ” 

Oh,  how  the  legs  and  arms  and  dust  and 
trouser  buttons  flew — 

What  florid  vocalisms  marked  that  vesper 
interview! 

Yes,  after  all  this  lapse  of  years,  I feelingly 
assert, 

With  all  respect  to  mother,  it  was  father’s 
whippings  hurt! 


The  little  boy  experiencing  that  tinglin’  neath 
his  vest 

Is  often  loath  to  realize  that  all  is  for  the 
best; 

Yet,  when  the  boy  gets  older,  he  pictures 
with  delight 

The  buffetings  of  childhood — as  we  do  here 
to-night. 


86 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  years,  the  gracious  years,  have  smoothed 
and  beautified  the  ways 

That  to  our  little  feet  seemed  all  too  rugged 
in  the  days 

Before  you  went  to  selling  clothes  and  I to 
peddling  rhymes  — 

So,  Harvey,  let  us  sit  awhile  and  think  upon 
those  times. 


87 


THE  ARMENIAN  MOTHER 


I WAS  a mother,  and  I weep; 

The  night  is  come  — the  day  is  sped  — 
The  night  of  woe  profound,  for,  oh, 

My  little  golden  son  is  dead ! 

The  pretty  rose  that  bloomed  anon 
Upon  my  mother  breast,  they  stole; 

They  let  the  dove  I nursed  with  love 
Fly  far  away  — so  sped  my  soul ! 

That  falcon  Death  swooped  down  upon 
My  sweet- voiced  turtle  as  he  sung; 

’T  is  hushed  and  dark  where  soared  the  lark. 
And  so,  and  so  my  heart  was  wrung! 

Before  my  eyes,  they  sent  the  hail 
Upon  my  green  pomegranate-tree  — 
Upon  the  bough  where  only  now 
A rosy  apple  bent  to  me. 

88 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


They  shook  my  beauteous  almond-tree, 
Beating  its  glorious  bloom  to  death  — 
They  strewed  it  round  upon  the  ground, 
And  mocked  its  fragrant  dying  breath. 

I was  a mother,  and  I weep ; 

I seek  the  rose  where  nestleth  none  — 
No  more  is  heard  the  singing  bird  — 

I have  no  little  golden  son! 

So  fall  the  shadows  over  me, 

The  blighted  garden,  lonely  nest. 
Reach  down  in  love,  O God  above! 

And  fold  my  darling  to  thy  breast. 


89 


HEIGHO,  MY  DEARIE 


A MOONBEAM  floateth  from  the  skies, 
Whispering:  “Heigho,  my  dearie; 

I would  spin  a web  before  your  eyes  — 

A beautiful  web  of  silver  light 
Wherein  is  many  a wondrous  sight 
Of  a radiant  garden  leagues  away. 

Where  the  softly  tinkling  lilies  sway 
And  the  snow-white  lambkins  are  at  play  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie!” 

A brownie  stealeth  from  the  vine, 

Singing:  “Heigho,  my  dearie; 

And  will  you  hear  this  song  of  mine  — 

A song  of  the  land  of  murk  and  mist 
Where  bideth  the  bud  the  dew  hath  kist  ? 
Then  let  the  moonbeam’s  web  of  light 
Be  spun  before  thee  silvery  white, 

And  I shall  sing  the  livelong  night  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie ! ” 


go 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


The  night  wind  speedeth  from  the  sea, 
Murmuring:  “ Heigho,  my  dearie; 

I bring  a mariner’s  prayer  for  thee; 

So  let  the  moonbeam  veil  thine  eyes, 

And  the  brownie  sing  thee  lullabies  — 

But  1 shall  rock  thee  to  and  fro, 

Kissing  the  brow  be  loveth  so. 

And  the  prayer  shall  guard  thy  bed,  1 trow  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie!” 


9 1 


TO  A USURPER 


AHA ! a traitor  in  the  camp, 

A rebel  strangely  bold, — 

A lisping,  laughing,  toddling  scamp, 
Not  more  than  four  years  old ! 

To  think  that  I,  who  ’ve  ruled  alone 
So  proudly  in  the  past, 

Should  be  ejected  from  my  throne 
By  my  own  son  at  last! 

He  trots  his  treason  to  and  fro, 

As  only  babies  can, 

And  says  he  ’ll  be  his  mamma’s  beau 
When  he ’s  a “ gweat,  big  man  ” ! 

You  stingy  boy!  you ’ve  always  had 
A share  in  mamma’s  heart. 

Would  you  begrudge  your  poor  old  dad 
The  tiniest  little  part  ? 


92 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


That  mamma,  I regret  to  see, 

Inclines  to  take  your  part, — 

As  if  a dual  monarchy 
Should  rule  her  gentle  heart! 

But  when  the  years  of  youth  have  sped, 
The  bearded  man,  I trow, 

Will  quite  forget  he  ever  said 
He ’d  be  his  mamma’s  beau. 

Renounce  your  treason,  little  son, 

Leave  mamma’s  heart  to  me; 

For  there  will  come  another  one 
To  claim  your  loyalty. 

And  when  that  other  comes  to  you, 

God  grant  her  love  may  shine, 

Through  all  your  life,  as  fair  and  true 
As  mamma’s  does  through  mine! 


93 


THE  BELL-FLOWER  TREE 


WHEN  brother  Bill  and  I were  boys, 
How  often  in  the  summer  we 
Would  seek  the  shade  your  branches  made, 
O fair  and  gracious  bell-flower  tree! 

Amid  the  clover  bloom  we  sat 
And  looked  upon  the  Holyoke  range, 
While  Fido  lay  a space  away, 

Thinking  our  silence  very  strange. 

The  woodchuck  in  the  pasture-lot, 

Beside  his  furtive  hole  elate, 

Heard,  off  beyond  the  pickerel  pond, 

The  redwing-blackbird  chide  her  mate. 
The  bumblebee  went  bustling  round, 
Pursuing  labors  never  done  — 

With  drone  and  sting,  the  greedy  thing 
Begrudged  the  sweets  we  lay  upon ! 


94 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Our  eyes  looked  always  at  the  hills  — 

The  Holyoke  hills  that  seemed  to  stand 
Between  us  boys  and  pictured  joys 
Of  conquest  in  a further  land ! 

Ah,  how  we  coveted  the  time 

When  we  should  leave  this  prosy  place 
And  work  our  wills  beyond  those  hills, 
And  meet  creation  face  to  face! 

You  must  have  heard  our  childish  talk  — 
Perhaps  our  prattle  gave  you  pain; 

For  then,  old  friend,  you  seemed  to  bend 
Your  kindly  arms  about  us  twain. 

It  might  have  been  the  wind  that  sighed, 
And  yet  I thought  1 heard  you  say: 
“Seek  not  the  ills  beyond  those  hills  — 
Oh,  stay  with  me,  my  children,  stay!” 

See,  I ’ve  come  back;  the  boy  you  knew 
Is  wiser,  older,  sadder  grown; 

I come  once  more,  just  as  of  yore  — 

I come,  but  see!  I come  alone! 

The  memory  of  a brother’s  love, 

Of  blighted  hopes,  I bring  with  me, 
And  here  I lay  my  heart  to-day  — 

A weary  heart,  O bell-flower  tree! 


95 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


So  let  me  nestle  in  your  shade 
As  though  1 were  a boy  again, 

And  pray  extend  your  arms,  old  friend, 
And  love  me  as  you  used  to  then. 
Sing  softly  as  you  used  to  sing, 

And  maybe  1 shall  seem  to  be 
A little  boy  and  feel  the  joy 

Of  thy  repose,  O bell-flower  tree! 


96 


FAIRY  AND  CHILD 


OH,  listen,  little  Dear-My-Soul, 

To  the  fairy  voices  calling, 

For  the  moon  is  high  in  the  misty  sky 
And  the  honey  dew  is  falling; 

To  the  midnight  feast  in  the  clover  bloom 
The  bluebells  are  a-ringing, 

And  it ’s  “ Come  away  to  the  land  of  fay  ” 
That  the  katydid  is  singing. 

Oh,  slumber,  little  Dear-My-Soul, 

And  hand  in  hand  we  ’ll  wander  — 
Hand  in  hand  to  the  beautiful  land 
Of  Balow,  away  off  yonder; 

Or  we  ’ll  sail  along  in  a lily  leaf 
Into  the  white  moon's  halo  — 

Over  a stream  of  mist  and  dream 
Into  the  land  of  Balow. 


97 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Or,  you  shall  have  two  beautiful  wings  — 
Two  gossamer  wings  and  airy, 

And  all  the  while  shall  the  old  moon  smile 
And  think  you  a little  fairy; 

And  you  shall  dance  in  the  velvet  sky, 

And  the  silvery  stars  shall  twinkle 
And  dream  sweet  dreams  as  over  their  beams 
Your  footfalls  softly  tinkle. 


98 


THE  GRANDSIRE 


I LOVED  him  so;  his  voice  had  grown 
Into  my  heart,  and  now  to  hear 
The  pretty  song  he  had  sung  so  long 
Die  on  the  lips  to  me  so  dear! 

He  a child  with  golden  curls. 

And  I with  head  as  white  as  snow  — 

I knelt  down  there  and  made  this  pray’r: 
“God,  let  me  be  the  first  to  go!  ” 

How  often  I recall  it  now : 

My  darling  tossing  on  his  bed, 

I sitting  there  in  mute  despair, 

Smoothing  the  curls  that  crowned  his 
head. 

They  did  not  speak  to  me  of  death  — 

A feeling  here  had  told  me  so; 

What  could  I say  or  do  but  pray 
That  1 might  be  the  first  to  go  ? 


99 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Yet,  thinking  of  him  standing  there 
Out  yonder  as  the  years  go  by, 

Waiting  for  me  to  come,  I see 
’T  was  better  he  should  wait,  not  I. 

For  when  I walk  the  vale  of  death, 

Above  the  wail  of  Jordan’s  flow 
Shall  rise  a song  that  shall  make  me  strong — 
The  call  of  the  child  that  was  first  to  go. 


IOO 


HUSHABY,  SWEET  MY  OWN 


FAIR  is  the  castle  upon  the  hill  — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

The  night  is  fair,  and  the  waves  are  still, 
And  the  wind  is  singing  to  you  and  to  me 
In  this  lowly  home  beside  the  sea  — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

On  yonder  hill  is  store  of  wealth  — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

And  revellers  drink  to  a little  one’s  health ; 
But  you  and  I bide  night  and  day 
For  the  other  love  that  has  sailed  away — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

See  not,  dear  eyes,  the  forms  that  creep 
Ghostlike,  O my  own! 

Out  of  the  mists  of  the  murmuring  deep; 
Oh,  see  them  not  and  make  no  cry 
Till  the  angels  of  death  have  passed  us  by — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

IOI 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Ah,  little  they  reck  of  you  and  me  — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own! 

In  our  lonely  home  beside  the  sea; 

They  seek  the  castle  up  on  the  hill, 

And  there  they  will  do  their  ghostly  will — 
Hushaby,  O my  own! 

Here  by  the  sea  a mother  croons 

“ Hushaby,  sweet  my  own!  ” 

In  yonder  castle  a mother  swoons 
While  the  angels  go  down  to  the  misty  deep, 
Bearing  a little  one  fast  asleep  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own ! 


102 


CHILD  AND  MOTHER 


OMOTHER-MY-LOVE,  if  you  ’ll  give 
me  your  hand, 

And  go  where  I ask  you  to  wander, 

I will  lead  you  away  to  a beautiful  land  — 
The  Dreamland  that ’s  waiting  out  yonder. 
We  ’ll  walk  in  a sweet-posie  garden  out  there 
Where  moonlight  and  starlight  are  stream- 
ing 

And  the  flowers  and  the  birds  are  filling  the 
air 

With  the  fragrance  and  music  of  dreaming. 

There  ’ll  be  no  little  tired-out  boy  to  undress, 
No  questions  or  cares  to  perplex  you; 
There  ’ll  be  no  little  bruises  or  bumps  to 
caress, 

Nor  patching  of  stockings  to  vex  you. 

For  I ’ll  rock  you  away  on  a silver-dew 
stream, 

And  sing  you  asleep  when  you  're  weary, 
And  no  one  shall  know  of  our  beautiful  dream 
But  you  and  your  own  little  dearie. 

105 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  when  I am  tired  I ’ll  nestle  my  head 

In  the  bosom  that ’s  soothed  me  so  often, 

And  the  wide-awake  stars  shall  sing  in  my 
stead 

A song  which  our  dreaming  shall  soften. 

So,  Mother-My-Love,  let  me  take  your  dear 
hand, 

And  away  through  the  starlight  we  ’ll 
wander  — 

Away  through  the  mist  to  the  beautiful 
land  — 

The  Dreamland  that ’s  waiting  out  yonder ! 


104 


MEDIAEVAL  EVENTIDE  SONG 


COME  hither,  lyttel  childe,  and  lie  upon 
my  breast  to-night, 

For  yonder  fares  an  angell  yclad  in  raimaunt 
white, 

And  yonder  sings  ye  angell  as  onely  angells 
may, 

And  his  songe  ben  of  a garden  that  bloometh 
farre  awaye. 

To  them  that  have  no  lyttel  childe  Godde 
sometimes  sendeth  down 
A lyttel  childe  that  ben  a lyttel  angell  of  his 
owne; 

And  if  so  bee  they  love  that  childe,  he  will- 
eth  it  to  staye, 

But  elsewise,  in  his  mercie,  he  taketh  it 
awaye. 

105 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  sometimes,  though  they  love  it,  Godde 
yearneth  for  ye  childe, 

And  sendeth  angells  singing,  whereby  it  ben 
beguiled; 

They  fold  their  arms  about  ye  lamb  that 
croodleth  at  his  play, 

And  beare  him  to  ye  garden  that  bloometh 
farre  awaye. 

1 wolde  not  lose  ye  lyttel  lamb  that  Godde 
hath  lent  to  me; 

If  I colde  sing  that  angell  songe,  how  joy- 
some  I sholde  be! 

For,  with  mine  arms  about  him,  and  my  mu- 
sick  in  his  eare, 

What  angell  songe  of  paradize  soever  sholde 
I feare  ? 

Soe  come,  my  lyttel  childe,  and  lie  upon  my 
breast  to-night, 

For  yonder  fares  an  angell  yclad  in  raimaunt 
white, 

And  yonder  sings  that  angell,  as  onely 
angells  may, 

And  his  songe  ben  of  a garden  that  bloom- 
eth farre  awaye. 


06 


ARMENIAN  LULLABY 


IF  thou  wilt  shut  thy  drowsy  eyes, 

My  mulberry  one,  my  golden  sun! 

The  rose  shall  sing  thee  lullabies, 

My  pretty  cosset  lambkin ! 

And  thou  shalt  swing  in  an  almond-tree, 
With  a flood  of  moonbeams  rocking  thee — 
A silver  boat  in  a golden  sea, 

My  velvet  love,  my  nestling  dove, 

My  own  pomegranate  blossom ! 

The  stork  shall  guard  thee  passing  well 
All  night,  my  sweet!  my  dimple-feet! 
And  bring  thee  myrrh  and  asphodel, 

My  gentle  rain-of-springtime ! 

And  for  thy  slumbrous  play  shall  twine 
The  diamond  stars  with  an  emerald  vine 
To  trail  in  the  waves  of  ruby  wine, 

My  myrtle  bloom,  my  heart’s  perfume, 
My  little  chirping  sparrow ! 

107 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  when  the  morn  wakes  up  to  see 
My  apple  bright,  my  soul’s  delight  1 
The  partridge  shall  come  calling  thee, 

My  jar  of  milk-and-honey  1 
Yes,  thou  shalt  know  what  mystery  lies 
In  the  amethyst  deep  of  the  curtained  skies, 
If  thou  wilt  fold  thy  onyx  eyes, 

You  wakeful  one,  you  naughty  son, 

You  cooing  little  turtle! 


108 


CHRISTMAS  TREASURES 


I COUNT  my  treasures  o’er  with  care,— 
The  little  toy  my  darling  knew, 

A little  sock  of  faded  hue, 

A little  lock  of  golden  hair. 

Long  years  ago  this  holy  time, 

My  little  one  — my  all  to  me — 

Sat  robed  in  white  upon  my  knee, 

And  heard  the  merry  Christmas  chime. 

“Tell  me,  my  little  golden-head, 

If  Santa  Claus  should  come  to-night, 
What  shall  he  bring  my  baby  bright, — 
What  treasure  for  my  boy  ?”  I said. 

And  then  he  named  this  little  toy, 

While  in  his  round  and  mournful  eyes 
There  came  a look  of  sweet  surprise, 
That  spake  his  quiet,  trustful  joy. 

109 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


And  as  he  lisped  his  evening  prayer 
He  asked  the  boon  with  childish  grace; 
Then,  toddling  to  the  chimney-place, 

He  hung  this  little  stocking  there. 

That  night,  while  lengthening  shadows 
crept, 

I saw  the  white-winged  angels  come 
With  singing  to  our  lowly  home 
And  kiss  my  darling  as  he  slept. 

They  must  have  heard  his  little  prayer, 

For  in  the  morn,  with  rapturous  face, 

He  toddled  to  the  chimney-place, 

And  found  this  little  treasure  there. 

They  came  again  one  Christmas-tide, — 
That  angel  host,  so  fair  and  white; 

And,  singing  all  that  glorious  night, 

They  lured  my  darling  from  my  side. 

A little  sock,  a little  toy, 

A little  lock  of  golden  hair, 

The  Christmas  music  on  the  air, 

A watching  for  my  baby  boy ! 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


But  if  again  that  angel  train 
And  golden-head  come  back  for  me, 
To  bear  me  to  Eternity, 

My  watching  will  not  be  in  vain. 


tu 


OH,  LITTLE  CHILD 


HUSH,  little  one,  and  fold  your  hands 
The  sun  hath  set,  the  moon  is  high 
The  sea  is  singing  to  the  sands, 

And  wakeful  posies  are  beguiled 
By  many  a fairy  lullaby  — 

Hush,  little  child  — my  little  child ! 

Dream,  little  one,  and  in  your  dreams 
Float  upward  from  this  lowly  place  — 
Float  out  on  mellow,  misty  streams 
To  lands  where  bideth  Mary  mild, 
And  let  her  kiss  thy  little  face, 

You  little  child  — my  little  child! 

Sleep,  little  one,  and  take  thy  rest  — 
With  angels  bending  over  thee, 

Sleep  sweetly  on  that  Father’s  breast 
Whom  our  dear  Christ  hath  reconciled 
But  stay  not  there  — come  back  to  me, 
Oh,  little  child  — my  little  child! 


GANDERFEATHER’S  GIFT 


I WAS  just  a little  thing 

When  a fairy  came  and  kissed  me; 
Floating  in  upon  the  light 
Of  a haunted  summer  night, 

Lo,  the  fairies  came  to  sing 
Pretty  slumber  songs  and  bring 
Certain  boons  that  else  had  missed  me. 
From  a dream  I turned  to  see 
What  those  strangers  brought  for  me, 
When  that  fairy  up  and  kissed  me  — 
Here,  upon  this  cheek,  he  kissed  me! 

Simmerdew  was  there,  but  she 
Did  not  like  me  altogether; 

Daisybright  and  Turtledove, 

Pilfercurds  and  Honeylove, 

Thistleblow  and  Amberglee 
On  that  gleaming,  ghostly  sea 
Floated  from  the  misty  heather, 

And  around  my  trundle-bed 
Frisked,  and  looked,  and  whispering  said 
Solemnlike  and  all  together: 

" You  shall  kiss  him,  Ganderfeather!  ” 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


Ganderfeather  kissed  me  then — 
Ganderfeather,  quaint  and  merry! 
No  attenuate  sprite  was  he, 

— But  as  buxom  as  could  be;  — 
Kissed  me  twice,  and  once  again, 
And  the  others  shouted  when 
On  my  cheek  uprose  a berry 
Somewhat  like  a mole,  mayhap, 

But  the  kiss-mark  of  that  chap 
Ganderfeather,  passing  merry — 
Humorsome,  but  kindly,  very! 

I was  just  a tiny  thing 
When  the  prankish  Ganderfeather 
Brought  this  curious  gift  to  me 
With  his  fairy  kisses  three; 

Yet  with  honest  pride  I sing 
That  same  gift  he  chose  to  bring 
Out  of  yonder  haunted  heather. 
Other  charms  and  friendships  fly — 
Constant  friends  this  mole  and  I, 
Who  have  been  so  long  together. 
Thank  you,  little  Ganderfeather! 


BAMBINO 


BAMBINO  in  his  cradle  slept; 

And  by  his  side  his  grandam  grim 
Bent  down  and  smiled  upon  the  child, 

And  sung  this  lullaby  to  him, — 

This  “ ninna  and  anninia  ” : 

“When  thou  art  older,  thou  shalt  mind 
To  traverse  countries  far  and  wide, 

And  thou  shalt  go  where  roses  blow 
And  balmy  waters  singing  glide — 

So  ninna  and  anninia! 

“And  thou  shalt  wear,  trimmed  up  in  points, 
A famous  jacket  edged  in  red, 

And,  more  than  that,  a peaked  hat, 

All  decked  in  gold,  upon  thy  head — 

Ah!  ninna  and  anninia! 

"5 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


“Then  shalt  thou  carry  gun  and  knife, 

Nor  shall  the  soldiers  bully  thee; 

Perchance,  beset  by  wrong  or  debt, 

A mighty  bandit  thou  shalt  be — 

So  ninna  and  anninia! 

“ No  woman  yet  of  our  proud  race 
Lived  to  her  fourteenth  year  unwed; 

The  brazen  churl  that  eyed  a girl 
Bought  her  the  ring  or  paid  his  head — 

So  ninna  and  anninia! 

“ But  once  came  spies  (1  know  the  thieves ! ) 
And  brought  disaster  to  our  race; 

God  heard  us  when  our  fifteen  men 
Were  hanged  within  the  market-place — 
But  ninna  and  anninia! 

“ Good  men  they  were,  my  babe,  and  true,  — 
Right  worthy  fellows  all,  and  strong; 

Live  thou  and  be  for  them  and  me 
Avenger  of  that  deadly  wrong  — 

So  ninna  and  anninia!  ” 


LITTLE  HOMER'S  SLATE 


AFTER  dear  old  grandma  died, 

I \ Hunting  through  an  oaken  chest 
In  the  attic,  we  espied 
What  repaid  our  childish  quest; 

’T  was  a homely  little  slate, 

Seemingly  of  ancient  date. 

On  its  quaint  and  battered  face 
Was  the  picture  of  a cart, 

Drawn  with  all  that  awkward  grace 
Which  betokens  childish  art; 

But  what  meant  this  legend,  pray: 

“ Homer  drew  this  yesterday  ” ? 

Mother  recollected  then 
What  the  years  were  fain  to  hide  — 
She  was  but  a baby  when 
Little  Homer  lived  and  died; 

Forty  years,  so  mother  said, 

Little  Homer  had  been  dead. 


WITH  TRUMPET  AND  DRUM 


This  one  secret  through  those  years 
Grandma  kept  from  all  apart, 
Hallowed  by  her  lonely  tears 
And  the  breaking  other  heart; 
While  each  year  that  sped  away 
Seemed  to  her  but  yesterday. 

So  the  homely  little  slate 
Grandma’s  baby’s  fingers  pressed, 
To  a memory  consecrate, 

Lieth  in  the  oaken  chest, 

Where,  unwilling  we  should  know, 
Grandma  put  it,  years  ago. 


118 


Eotoe^ongsf  of  CtjilbfjooU 


MRS.  BELLE  ANGIER 


Dearest  Aunt  : 

Many  years  ago  you  used  to  rock  me  to  sleep,  cradling 
me  in  your  arms  and  singing  me  pretty  songs.  Surely 
you  have  not  forgotten  that  time,  and  I recall  it  with 
tenderness.  You  were  very  beautiful  then.  But  you 
are  more  beautiful  now ; for,  in  the  years  that  have 
come  and  gone  since  then,  the  joys  and  the  sorrows 
of  maternity  have  impressed  their  saintly  grace  upon 
the  dear  face  I used  to  kiss,  and  have  made  your  gentle 
heart  gentler  still. 

Beloved  lady,  in  memory  of  years  to  be  recalled  only  in 
thought,  and  in  token  of  my  gratitude  and  affection, 
I bring  you  these  little  love-songs,  and  reverently  l lay 
them  at  your  feet. 

EUGENE  FIELD. 

Chicago,  November  i,  1894. 


THE  ROCK-A-BY  LADY 


THE  Rock-a-By  Lady  from  Hushaby 
street 

Comes  stealing;  comes  creeping; 

The  poppies  they  hang  from  her  head  to  her 
feet, 

And  each  hath  a dream  that  is  tiny  and 
fleet  — 

She  bringeth  her  poppies  to  you,  my  sweet, 
When  she  findeth  you  sleeping! 

There  is  one  little  dream  of  a beautiful  drum — 
“Rub-a-dub!  ” it  goeth; 

There  is  one  little  dream  of  a big  sugar-plum, 
And  lo!  thick  and  fast  the  other  dreams 
come 

Of  popguns  that  bang,  and  tin  tops  that 
hum. 

And  a trumpet  that  bloweth! 


123 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  dollies  peep  out  of  those  wee  little  dreams 
With  laughter  and  singing; 

And  boats  go  a-floating  on  silvery  streams, 
And  the  stars  peek-a-boo  with  their  own 
misty  gleams, 

And  up,  up,  and  up,  where  the  Mother  Moon 
beams, 

The  fairies  go  winging  1 

Would  you  dream  all  these  dreams  that  are 
tiny  and  fleet  ? 

They  ’ll  come  to  you  sleeping; 

So  shut  the  two  eyes  that  are  weary,  my 
sweet. 

For  the  Rock-a-By  Lady  from  Hushaby  street, 
With  poppies  that  hang  from  her  head  to 
her  feet, 

Comes  stealing;  comes  creeping. 


124 


“BOOH!” 


ON  afternoons,  when  baby  boy  has  had 
a splendid  nap, 

And  sits,  like  any  monarch  on  his  throne,  in 
nurse’s  lap, 

In  some  such  wise  my  handkerchief  I hold 
before  my  face, 

And  cautiously  and  quietly  1 move  about  the 
place; 

Then,  with  a cry,  1 suddenly  expose  my 
face  to  view, 

And  you  should  hear  him  laugh  and  crow 
when  1 say  “ Booh!  ” 

Sometimes  the  rascal  tries  to  make  believe 
that  he  is  scared, 

And  really,  when  1 first  began,  he  stared, 
and  stared,  and  stared; 


125 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  then  his  under  lip  came  out  and  farther 
out  it  came, 

Till  mamma  and  the  nurse  agreed  it  was  a 
“cruel  shame ” — 

But  now  what  does  that  same  wee,  toddling, 
lisping  baby  do 

But  laugh  and  kick  his  little  heels  when  1 
say  “ Booh!  ” 

He  laughs  and  kicks  his  little  heels  in  rap- 
turous glee,  and  then 

In  shrill,  despotic  treble  bids  me  “ do  it  all 
aden!  ” 

And  1 — of  course  1 do  it;  for,  as  his  pro- 
genitor, 

It  is  such  pretty,  pleasant  play  as  this  that  I 
am  for! 

And  it  is,  oh,  such  fun ! and  1 am  sure  that 
we  shall  rue 

The  time  when  we  are  both  too  old  to  play 
the  game  of  “ Booh ! ” 


126 


GARDEN  AND  CRADLE 


WHEN  our  babe  he  goeth  walking  in 
his  garden, 

Around  his  tinkling  feet  the  sunbeams  play ; 
The  posies  they  are  good  to  him, 

And  bow  them  as  they  should  to  him. 
As  fareth  he  upon  his  kingly  way ; 

And  birdlings  of  the  wood  to  him 
Make  music,  gentle  music,  all  the  day, 
When  our  babe  he  goeth  walking  in  his 
garden. 

When  our  babe  he  goeth  swinging  in  his 
cradle, 

Then  the  night  it  looketh  ever  sweetly 
down; 

The  little  stars  are  kind  to  him, 

The  moon  she  hath  a mind  to  him 
And  layeth  on  his  head  a golden  crown; 

And  singeth  then  the  wind  to  him 
A song,  the  gentle  song  of  Bethle’m-town, 
When  our  babe  he  goeth  swinging  in  his 
cradle. 


127 


THE  NIGHT  WIND 


HAVE  you  ever  heard  the  wind  go 
“ Yooooo  ”? 

’T  is  a pitiful  sound  to  hear! 

It  seems  to  chill  you  through  and  through 
With  a strange  and  speechless  fear. 

’T  is  the  voice  of  the  night  that  broods  outside 
When  folk  should  be  asleep, 

And  many  and  many ’s  the  time  I ’ve  cried 
To  the  darkness  brooding  far  and  wide 
Over  the  land  and  the  deep: 

“Whom  do  you  want,  O lonely  night, 

That  you  wail  the  long  hours  through  ? ” 
And  the  night  would  say  in  its  ghostly  way : 
“ Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo! ” 

128 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


My  mother  told  me  long  ago 
(When  1 was  a little  tad) 

That  when  the  night  went  wailing  so. 
Somebody  had  been  bad; 

And  then,  when  1 was  snug  in  bed, 
Whither  1 had  been  sent, 

With  the  blankets  pulled  up  round  my  head, 
1 ’d  think  of  what  my  mother ’d  said. 

And  wonder  what  boy  she  meant! 

And  “ Who ’s  been  bad  to-day  ?”  I ’d  ask 
Of  the  wind  that  hoarsely  blew, 

And  the  voice  would  say  in  its  meaningful 
way: 

“ Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo!  ” 

That  this  was  true  I must  allow  — 

You  ’ll  not  believe  it,  though! 

Yes,  though  1 ’m  quite  a model  now, 

I was  not  always  so. 

And  if  you  doubt  what  things  I say, 
Suppose  you  make  the  test; 

Suppose,  when  you ’ve  been  bad  some  day 
And  up  to  bed  are  sent  away 
From  mother  and  the  rest  — 


129 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Suppose  you  ask,  “Who  has  been  bad ? ” 
And  then  you  ’ll  hear  what ’s  true; 

For  the  wind  will  moan  in  its  ruefullest  tone 
“ Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo! 

Yoooooooo! ” 


130 


KISSING  TIME 


"Tp  IS  when  the  lark  goes  soaring 
1 And  the  bee  is  at  the  bud, 
When  lightly  dancing  zephyrs 
Sing  over  field  and  flood; 

When  all  sweet  things  in  nature 
Seem  joyfully  achime  — 

’T  is  then  I wake  my  darling, 

For  it  is  kissing  time! 

Go,  pretty  lark,  a-soaring, 

And  suck  your  sweets,  O bee; 
Sing,  O ye  winds  of  summer, 

Your  songs  to  mine  and  me; 

For  with  your  song  and  rapture 
Cometh  the  moment  when 
It ’s  half-past  kissing  time 
And  time  to  kiss  again ! 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


So  — so  the  days  go  fleeting 
Like  golden  fancies  free. 

And  every  day  that  cometh 
Is  full  of  sweets  for  me; 

And  sweetest  are  those  moments 
My  darling  comes  to  climb 
Into  my  lap  to  mind  me 
That  it  is  kissing  time. 

Sometimes,  maybe,  he  wanders 
A heedless,  aimless  way  — 
Sometimes,  maybe,  he  loiters 
In  pretty,  prattling  play; 

But  presently  bethinks  him 
And  hastens  to  me  then, 

For  it ’s  half-past  kissing  time 
And  time  to  kiss  again ! 


132 


JEST  ’FORE  CHRISTMAS 


FATHER  calls  me  William,  sister  calls  me 
Will, 

Mother  calls  me  Willie,  but  the  fellers  call 
me  Bill! 

Mighty  glad  I ain’t  a girl  — ruther  be  a boy, 
Without  them  sashes,  curls,  an’  things 
that ’s  worn  by  Fauntleroy ! 

Love  to  chawnk  green  apples  an’  go  swim- 
min’  in  the  lake  — 

Hate  to  take  the  castor-ile  they  give  for  belly- 
ache! 

’Most  all  the  time,  the  whole  year  round, 
there  ain’t  no  flies  on  me. 

But  jest  ’fore  Christmas  I ’m  as  good  as  I kin 
be! 

Got  a yeller  dog  named  Sport,  sick  him  on 
the  cat; 

First  thing  she  knows  she  does  n’t  know 
where  she  is  at! 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Got  a clipper  sled,  an'  when  us  kids  goes 
out  to  slide, 

'Long  comes  the  grocery  cart,  an’  we  all 
hook  a ride! 

But  sometimes  when  the  grocery  man  is 
worrited  an’  cross, 

He  reaches  at  us  with  his  whip,  an’  larrups 
up  his  hoss, 

An’  then  1 laff  an’  holler,  “Oh,  ye  never 
teched  me!  ” 

But  jest  ’fore  Christmas  I ’m  as  good  as  I kin 
be! 


Gran’ma  says  she  hopes  that  when  I git  to 
be  a man, 

I ’ll  be  a missionarer  like  her  oldest  brother, 
Dan, 

As  was  et  up  by  the  cannibuls  that  lives  in 
Ceylon’s  Isle, 

Where  every  prospeck  pleases,  an’  only  man 
is  vile! 

But  gran’ma  she  has  never  been  to  see  a 
Wild  West  show, 

Nor  read  the  Life  of  Daniel  Boone,  or  else  I 
guess  she ’d  know 


134 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


That  Buff’lo  Bill  an’  cowboys  is  good  enough 
for  me! 

Excep’  jest  ’fore  Christmas,  when  1 ’m  good 
as  I kin  be! 

And  then  old  Sport  he  hangs  around,  so  sol- 
emnlike  an’  still, 

His  eyes  they  seem  a-sayin’:  “What ’s  the 
matter,  little  Bill  ? ” 

The  old  cat  sneaks  down  off  her  perch  an’ 
wonders  what ’s  become 

Of  them  two  enemies  of  hern  that  used  to 
make  things  hum! 

But  I am  so  perlite  an’  tend  so  earnestly  to 
biz, 

That  mother  says  to  father : “ How  improved 
our  Willie  is! ” 

But  father,  havin’  been  a boy  hisself,  suspi- 
cions me 

When,  jest  ’fore  Christmas,  I ’m  as  good  as 
I kin  be! 

For  Christmas,  with  its  lots  an’  lots  of  can- 
dies, cakes,  an’  toys, 

Was  made,  they  say,  for  proper  kids  an’  not 
for  naughty  boys ; 

‘35 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


So  wash  yer  face  an’  bresh  yer  hair,  an’ 
mind  yer  p’s  and  q’s, 

An’  don’t  bust  out  yer  pantaloons,  and  don’t 
wear  out  yer  shoes; 

Say  “ Yessum  ” to  the  ladies,  and  “ Yessur  ” 
to  the  men, 

An’  when  they ’s  company,  don’t  pass  yer 
plate  for  pie  again ; 

But,  thinkin’  of  the  things  yer ’d  like  to  see 
upon  that  tree, 

Jest  ’fore  Christmas  be  as  good  as  yer  kin  be ! 


36 


BEARD  AND  BABY 


ISAY,  as  one  who  never  feared 
The  wrath  of  a subscriber’s  bullet, 

1 pity  him  who  has  a beard 
But  has  no  little  girl  to  pull  it! 

When  wife  and  1 have  finished  tea, 

Our  baby  woos  me  with  her  prattle, 
And,  perching  proudly  on  my  knee, 

She  gives  my  petted  whiskers  battle. 

With  both  her  hands  she  tugs  away, 
While  scolding  at  me  kind  o’  spiteful 
You  ’ll  not  believe  me  when  1 say 
I find  the  torture  quite  delightful! 

No  other  would  presume,  1 ween, 

To  trifle  with  this  hirsute  wonder, 
Else  would  1 rise  in  vengeful  mien 
And  rend  his  vandal  frame  asunder! 
'37 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


But  when  her  baby  fingers  pull 
This  glossy,  sleek,  and  silky  treasure, 
My  cup  of  happiness  is  full  — 

1 fairly  glow  with  pride  and  pleasure! 

And,  sweeter  still,  through  all  the  day 
I seem  to  hear  her  winsome  prattle  — 

I seem  to  feel  her  hands  at  play, 

As  though  they  gave  me  sportive  battle. 

Yes,  heavenly  music  seems  to  steal 
Where  thought  of  her  forever  lingers, 
And  round  my  heart  1 always  feel 
The  twining  of  her  dimpled  fingers! 


38 


THE  DINKEY-BIRD 


IN  an  ocean,  ’way  out  yonder 
(As  all  sapient  people  know), 

Is  the  land  of  Wonder-Wander, ' 

Whither  children  love  to  go; 

It ’s  their  playing,  romping,  swinging, 
That  give  great  joy  to  me 
While  the  Dinkey-Bird  goes  singing 
In  the  amfalula  tree ! 

There  the  gum-drops  grow  like  cherries, 
And  taffy ’s  thick  as  peas  — 

Caramels  you  pick  like  berries 
When,  and  where,  and  how  you  please 
Big  red  sugar-plums  are  clinging 
To  the  cliffs  beside  that  sea 
Where  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 
In  the  amfalula  tree. 


>39 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


So  when  children  shout  and  scamper 
And  make  merry  all  the  day, 

When  there ’s  naught  to  put  a damper 
To  the  ardor  of  their  play; 

When  1 hear  their  laughter  ringing, 
Then  I ’m  sure  as  sure  can  be 
That  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 
In  the  amfalula  tree. 

For  the  Dinkey-Bird’s  bravuras 
And  staccatos  are  so  sweet  — 

His  roulades,  appoggiaturas, 

And  robustos  so  complete, 

That  the  youth  of  every  nation  — 

Be  they  near  or  far  away  — 

Have  especial  delectation 
In  that  gladsome  roundelay. 

Their  eyes  grow  bright  and  brighter, 
Their  lungs  begin  to  crow, 

Their  hearts  get  light  and  lighter, 

And  their  cheeks  are  all  aglow; 

For  an  echo  cometh  bringing 
The  news  to  all  and  me, 

That  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 
In  the  amfalula  tree. 


40 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


I ’m  sure  you  like  to  go  there 
To  see  your  feathered  friend  — 
And  so  many  goodies  grow  there 
You  would  like  to  comprehend! 
Speed , little  dreams,  your  winging 
To  that  land  across  the  sea. 
Where  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 
In  the  amf alula  tree  ! 


THE  DRUM 


I’M  a beautiful  red,  red  drum, 

And  I train  with  the  soldier  boys 
As  up  the  street  we  come. 
Wonderful  is  our  noise! 

There ’s  Tom,  and  Jim,  and  Phil, 
And  Dick,  and  Nat,  and  Fred, 
While  Widow  Cutler’s  Bill 
And  I march  on  ahead, 

With  a r-r-rat-tat-tat 
And  a tum-titty-um-tum-tum  — 
Oh,  there ’s  bushels  of  fun  in  that 
For  boys  with  a little  red  drum ! 

The  Injuns  came  last  night 
While  the  soldiers  were  abed, 
And  they  gobbled  a Chinese  kite 
And  off  to  the  woods  they  fled! 


142 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


The  woods  are  the  cherry-trees 
Down  in  the  orchard  lot, 

And  the  soldiers  are  marching  to  seize 
The  booty  the  Injuns  got. 

With  tum-titty-um-tum-tum, 

And  r-r-rat-tat-tat, 

When  soldiers  marching  come 
Injuns  had  better  scat! 

Step  up  there,  little  Fred, 

And,  Charley,  have  a mind! 

Jim  is  as  far  ahead 

As  you  two  are  behind! 

Ready  with  gun  and  sword 
Your  valorous  work  to  do  — 
Yonder  the  Injun  horde 
Are  lying  in  wait  for  you. 

And  their  hearts  go  pitapat 

When  they  hear  the  soldiers  come 
With  a r-r-rat-tat-tat 
And  a tum-titty-um-tum-tum ! 

Course  it ’s  all  in  play! 

The  skulking  Injun  crew 
That  hustled  the  kite  away 
Are  little  white  boys,  like  you ! 

>43 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


But  “honest”  or  “just  in  fun,” 

It  is  all  the  same  to  me; 

And,  when  the  battle  is  won, 

Home  once  again  march  we 
With  a r-r-rat-tat-tat 

And  tum-titty-um-tum-tum ; 

And  there ’s  glory  enough  in  that 
For  the  boys  with  their  little  red  drum 


>44 


THE  DEAD  BABE 


LAST  night,  as  my  dear  babe  lay  dead, 
j In  agony  I knelt  and  said: 

“O  God!  what  have  I done, 

Or  in  what  wise  offended  Thee, 

That  Thou  should’st  take  away  from  me 
My  little  son  ? 

“Upon  the  thousand  useless  lives, 

Upon  the  guilt  that  vaunting  thrives, 

Thy  wrath  were  better  spent! 

Why  shouldst  Thou  take  my  little  son  — 
Why  shouldst  Thou  vent  Thy  wrath  upon 
This  innocent?” 

Last  night,  as  my  dear  babe  lay  dead, 
Before  mine  eyes  the  vision  spread 

Of  things  that  might  have  been: 
Licentious  riot,  cruel  strife, 

Forgotten  prayers,  a wasted  life 
Dark-red  with  sin ! 


'45 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Then,  with  sweet  music  in  the  air, 

I saw  another  vision  there: 

A Shepherd  in  whose  keep 
A little  lamb — my  little  child! 

Of  worldly  wisdom  undefiled, 

Lay  fast  asleep ! 

Last  night,  as  my  dear  babe  lay  dead, 

In  those  two  messages  I read 
A wisdom  manifest; 

And  though  my  arms  be  childless  now, 
1 am  content  — to  Him  I bow 
Who  knoweth  best. 


146 


THE  HAPPY  HOUSEHOLD 


IT ’s  when  the  birds  go  piping  and  the  day- 
light slowly  breaks, 

That,  clamoring  for  his  dinner,  our  precious 
baby  wakes; 

Then  it ’s  sleep  no  more  for  baby,  and  it ’s 
sleep  no  more  for  me, 

For,  when  he  wants  his  dinner,  why  it ’s 
dinner  it  must  be! 

And  of  that  lacteal  fluid  he  partakes  with 
great  ado, 

While  gran’ma  laughs, 

And  gran’pa  laughs, 

And  wife,  she  laughs, 

And  I — well,  / laugh,  too  ! 

You ’d  think,  to  see  us  carrying  on  about 
that  little  tad, 

That,  like  as  not,  that  baby  was  the  first 
we ’d  ever  had; 


'47 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


But,  sakes  alive!  he  is  n’t,  yet  we  people 
make  a fuss 

As  if  the  only  baby  in  the  world  had  come 
to  us  ! 

And,  morning,  noon,  and  night-time,  what- 
ever he  may  do, 

Gran’ma,  she  laughs, 

Gran’pa,  he  laughs, 

Wife,  she  laughs, 

And  I,  of  course,  laugh,  too! 


But  once — a likely  spell  ago — when  that 
poor  little  chick 

From  teething  or  from  some  such  ill  of  in- 
fancy fell  sick, 

You  would  n’t  know  us  people  as  the  same 
that  went  about 

A-feelin’  good  all  over,  just  to  hear  him  crow 
and  shout; 

And,  though  the  doctor  poohed  our  fears  and 
said  he ’d  pull  him  through, 

Old  gran’ma  cried, 

And  gran’pa  cried, 

And  wife,  she  cried, 

And  I — yes,  / cried,  too! 

148 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


It  makes  us  all  feel  good  to  have  a baby  on 
the  place, 

With  his  everlastin’  crowing  and  his  dimp- 
ling, dumpling  face; 

The  patter  of  his  pinky  feet  makes  music 
everywhere, 

And  when  he  shakes  those  fists  of  his, 
good-by  to  every  care! 

No  matter our  trouble  is,  when  he  begins 
to  coo. 

Old  gran’ma  laughs, 

And  gran’pa  laughs, 

Wife,  she  laughs, 

And  1 — you  bet,  / laugh,  too! 


149 


SO,  SO,  ROCK-A-BY  SO! 


SO,  so,  rock-a-by  so ! 

Off  to  the  garden  where  dreamikins 
grow; 

And  here  is  a kiss  on  your  winkyblink  eyes, 
And  here  is  a kiss  on  your  dimpledown 
cheek, 

And  here  is  a kiss  for  the  treasure  that  lies 
In  the  beautiful  garden  ’way  up  in  the  skies 
Which  you  seek. 

Now  mind  these  three  kisses  wherever  you 
go  — 

So,  so,  rock-a-by  so! 

There ’s  one  little  fumfay  who  lives  there, 
1 know, 

For  he  dances  all  night  where  the  dreamikins 
grow; 

I send  him  this  kiss  on  your  droopydrop 
eyes, 

I send  him  this  kiss  on  your  rosyred  cheek. 


150 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  here  is  a kiss  for  the  dream  that  shall 
rise 

When  the  fumfay  shall  dance  in  those  far- 
away skies 

Which  you  seek. 

Be  sure  that  you  pay  those  three  kisses  you 
owe  — 

So,  so,  rock-a-by  so! 

And,  by-low,  as  you  rock-a-by  go, 

Don’t  forget  mother  who  loveth  you  so! 

And  here  is  her  kiss  on  your  weepydeep 
eyes, 

And  here  is  her  kiss  on  your  peachypink 
cheek, 

And  here  is  her  kiss  for  the  dreamland  that 
lies 

Like  a babe  on  the  breast  of  those  far-away 
skies 

Which  you  seek  — 

The  blinkywink  garden  where  dreamikins 
grow  — 

So,  so,  rock-a-by  so! 


15 


THE  SONG  OF  LUDDY-DUD 


A SUNBEAM  comes  a-creeping 
Into  my  dear  one’s  nest, 

And  sings  to  our  babe  a-sleeping 
The  song  that  I love  the  best: 

“’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  in  the  morn- 
ing— 

’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  at  night; 

And  all  day  long 
’T  is  the  same  sweet  song 
Of  that  waddling,  toddling,  coddling  little 
mite,  Luddy-Dud.” 

The  bird  to  the  tossing  clover, 

The  bee  to  the  swaying  bud, 

Keep  singing  that  sweet  song  over 
Of  wee  little  Luddy-Dud. 


152 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


“’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  in  the  morn- 
ing— 

’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  at  night; 

And  all  day  long 
’T  is  the  same  dear  song 
Of  that  growing,  crowing,  knowing  little 
sprite,  Luddy-Dud.” 

Luddy-Dud’s  cradle  is  swinging 
Where  softly  the  night  winds  blow, 

And  Luddy-Dud’s  mother  is  singing 
A song  that  is  sweet  and  low; 

“’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  in  the  morn- 
ing— 

’T  is  little  Luddy-Dud  at  night; 

And  all  day  long 
’T  is  the  same  sweet  song 
Of  my  nearest  and  my  dearest  heart’s  de- 
light, Luddy-Dud!” 


'53 


THE  DUEL 


THE  gingham  dog  and  the  calico  cat 
Side  by  side  on  the  table  sat; 

’T  was  half-past  twelve,  and  (what  do  you 
think!) 

Nor  one  nor  t’  other  had  slept  a wink! 

The  old  Dutch  clock  and  the  Chinese 
plate 

Appeared  to  know  as  sure  as  fate 
There  was  going  to  be  a terrible  spat. 

(I  was  n’t  there;  I simply  state 
What  was  told  to  me  by  the  Chinese 

plate  !) 

The  gingham  dog  went  ‘ ‘ Bow-wow-wow ! ” 
And  the  calico  cat  replied  “ Mee-ow!  ” 

The  air  was  littered,  an  hour  or  so, 

With  bits  of  gingham  and  calico, 

While  the  old  Dutch  clock  in  the  chim- 
ney-place 

Up  with  its  hands  before  its  face, 

•54 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


For  it  always  dreaded  a family  row ! 

(Now  mind:  I ’m  only  telling  you 
What  the  old  Dutch  clock  declares  is 
true  !) 

The  Chinese  plate  looked  very  blue, 

And  wailed,  “Oh,  dear!  what  shall  we  do!” 
But  the  gingham  dog  and  the  calico  cat 
Wallowed  this  way  and  tumbled  that, 
Employing  every  tooth  and  claw 
In  the  awfullest  way  you  ever  saw  — 
And,  oh ! how  the  gingham  and  calico  flew ! 
(Don’t fancy  / exaggerate  — 

I got  my  news  from  the  Chinese  plate  !) 

Next  morning,  where  the  two  had  sat 
They  found  no  trace  of  dog  or  cat; 

And  some  folks  think  unto  this  day 
That  burglars  stole  that  pair  away ! 

But  the  truth  about  the  cat  and  pup 
Is  this:  they  ate  each  other  up! 

Now  what  do  you  really  think  of  that! 

( The  old  Dutch  clock  it  told  me  so. 
And  that  is  how  l came  to  know.) 


'55 


GOOD-CHILDREN  STREET 


THERE  ’S  a dear  little  home  in  Good- 
Children  street  — 

My  heart  turneth  fondly  to-day 
Where  tinkle  of  tongues  and  patter  of  feet 
Make  sweetest  of  music  at  play; 

Where  the  sunshine  of  love  illumines  each 
face 

And  warms  every  heart  in  that  old-fashioned 
place. 

For  dear  little  children  go  romping  about 
With  dollies  and  tin  tops  and  drums, 

And,  my!  how  they  frolic  and  scamper  and 
shout 

Till  bedtime  too  speedily  comes! 

Oh,  days  they  are  golden  and  days  they  are 
fleet 

With  little  folk  livinginGood-Childrenstreet. 

156 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


See,  here  comes  an  army  with  guns  painted 
red, 

And  swords,  caps,  and  plumes  of  all  sorts ; 

The  captain  rides  gaily  and  proudly  ahead 
On  a stick-horse  that  prances  and  snorts ! 

Oh,  legions  of  soldiers  you  ’re  certain  to 
meet  — 

Nice  make-believe  soldiers  — in  Good-Chil- 
dren street. 

And  yonder  Odette  wheels  her  dolly  about  — 
Poor  dolly!  1 ’m  sure  she  is  ill, 

For  one  of  her  blue  china  eyes  has  dropped 
out 

And  her  voice  is  asthmatic’ly  shrill. 

Then,  too,  I observe  she  is  minus  her  feet, 

Which  causes  much  sorrow  in  Good-Chil- 
dren street. 

’T  is  so  the  dear  children  go  romping  about 
With  dollies  and  banners  and  drums, 

And  I venture  to  say  they  are  sadly  put  out 
When  an  end  to  their  jubilee  comes : 

Oh,  days  they  are  golden  and  days  they  are 
fleet 

With  little  folk  living  in  Good-Children  street ! 


'57 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


But  when  falleth  night  over  river  and  town, 

Those  little  folk  vanish  from  sight, 

And  an  angel  all  white  from  the  sky  cometh 
down 

And  guardeth  the  babes  through  the  night, 
And  singeth  her  lullabies  tender  and  sweet 
To  the  dear  little  people  in  Good-Children 
street. 

Though  elsewhere  the  world  be  o’erburdened 
with  care, 

Though  poverty  fall  to  my  lot, 

Though  toil  and  vexation  be  always  my 
share, 

What  care  I — they  trouble  me  not! 

This  thought  maketh  life  ever  joyous  and 
sweet: 

There  ’s  a dear  little  home  in  Good-Children 
street. 


.58 


THE  DELECTABLE  BALLAD  OF  THE 
WALLER  LOT 


UP  yonder  in  Buena  Park 
There  is  a famous  spot, 

In  legend  and  in  history 
Yclept  the  Waller  Lot. 

There  children  play  in  daytime 
And  lovers  stroll  by  dark, 

For ’t  is  the  goodliest  trysting-place 
In  all  Buena  Park. 

Once  on  a time  that  beauteous  maid, 
Sweet  little  Sissy  Knott, 

Took  out  her  pretty  doll  to  walk 
Within  the  Waller  Lot. 

While  thus  she  fared,  from  Ravenswood 
Came  Injuns  o’er  the  plain, 

And  seized  upon  that  beauteous  maid 
And  rent  her  doll  in  twain. 


159 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Oh,  ’t  was  a piteous  thing  to  hear 
Her  lamentations  wild; 

She  tore  her  golden  curls  and  cried: 
“My  child!  My  child!  My  child!” 

Alas,  what  cared  those  Injun  chiefs 
How  bitterly  wailed  she  ? 

They  never  had  been  mothers, 

And  they  could  not  hope  to  be! 


“ Have  done  with  tears,”  they  rudely  quoth, 
And  then  they  bound  her  hands; 

For  they  proposed  to  take  her  off 
To  distant  border  lands. 


But,  joy!  from  Mr.  Eddy’s  barn 
Doth  Willie  Clow  behold 
The  sight  that  makes  his  hair  rise  up 
And  all  his  blood  run  cold. 


He  put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth 
And  whistled  long  and  clear, 
And  presently  a goodly  horde 
Of  cowboys  did  appear. 

160 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Cried  Willie  Clow:  “ My  comrades  bold, 
Haste  to  the  Waller  Lot, 

And  rescue  from  that  Injun  band 
Our  charming  Sissy  Knott! 


“Spare  neither  Injun  buck  nor  squaw, 
But  smite  them  hide  and  hair! 

Spare  neither  sex  nor  age  nor  size, 

And  no  condition  spare!  ” 


Then  sped  that  cowboy  band  away, 
Full  of  revengeful  wrath. 

And  Kendall  Evans  rode  ahead 
Upon  a hickory  lath. 

And  next  came  gallant  Dady  Field 
And  Willie’s  brother  Kent, 

The  Eddy  boys  and  Robbie  James, 
On  murderous  purpose  bent. 


For  they  were  much  beholden  to 
That  maid  — in  sooth,  the  lot 
Were  very,  very  much  in  love 
With  charming  Sissy  Knott. 

161 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


What  wonder  ? She  was  beauty’s  queen, 
And  good  beyond  compare; 

Moreover,  it  was  known  she  was 
Her  wealthy  father’s  heir! 


Now  when  the  Injuns  saw  that  band 
They  trembled  with  afFright, 

And  yet  they  thought  the  cheapest  thing 
To  do  was  stay  and  fight. 


So  sturdily  they  stood  their  ground, 
Nor  would  their  prisoner  yield, 
Despite  the  wrath  of  Willie  Clow 
And  gallant  Dady  Field. 


Oh,  never  fiercer  battle  raged 
Upon  the  Waller  Lot, 

And  never  blood  more  freely  flowed 
Than  flowed  for  Sissy  Knott! 

An  Injun  chief  of  monstrous  size 
Got  Kendall  Evans  down, 

And  Robbie  James  was  soon  o’erthrown 
By  one  of  great  renown. 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  Dady  Field  was  sorely  done, 

And  Willie  Clow  was  hurt, 

And  all  that  gallant  cowboy  band 
Lay  wallowing  in  the  dirt. 

But  still  they  strove  with  might  and  main 
Till  all  the  Waller  Lot 

Was  strewn  with  hair  and  gouts  of  gore  — 
All,  all  for  Sissy  Knott! 

Then  cried  the  maiden  in  despair: 

“Alas,  1 sadly  fear 

The  battle  and  my  hopes  are  lost, 

Unless  some  help  appear!  ” 


Lo,  as  she  spoke,  she  saw  afar 
The  rescuer  looming  up  — 
The  pride  of  all  Buena  Park, 
Clow’s  famous  yellow  pup! 


“Now,  sick  ’em,  Don,”  the  maiden  cried, 
“Now,  sick  ’em,  Don! ’’cried  she; 
Obedient  Don  at  once  complied  — 

As  ordered,  so  did  he. 

16? 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


He  sicked  ’em  all  so  passing  well 
That,  overcome  by  fright, 

The  Indian  horde  gave  up  the  fray 
And  safety  sought  in  flight. 

They  ran  and  ran  and  ran  and  ran 
O’er  valley,  plain,  and  hill; 

And  if  they  are  not  walking  now, 

Why,  then,  they  ’re  running  still. 

The  cowboys  rose  up  from  the  dust 
With  faces  black  and  blue; 

“Remember,  beauteous  maid,”  said  they, 
“We ’ve  bled  and  died  for  you! 


“And  though  we  suffer  grievously, 

We  gladly  hail  the  lot 
That  brings  us  toils  and  pains  and  wounds 
For  charming  Sissy  Knott!  ” 


But  Sissy  Knott  still  wailed  and  wept, 
And  still  her  fate  reviled ; 

For  who  could  patch  her  dolly  up  — 
Who,  who  could  mend  her  child  ? 
164 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Then  out  her  doting  mother  came, 
And  soothed  her  daughter  then; 
“Grieve  not,  my  darling,  I will  sew 
Your  dolly  up  again!  ” 


Joy  soon  succeeded  unto  grief, 
And  tears  were  soon  dried  up, 
And  dignities  were  heaped  upon 
Clow’s  noble  yellow  pup. 


Him  all  that  goodly  company 
Did  as  deliverer  hail  — 

They  tied  a ribbon  round  his  neck, 
Another  round  his  tail. 


And  every  anniversary  day 
Upon  the  Waller  Lot 
They  celebrate  the  victory  won 
For  charming  Sissy  Knott. 


And  I,  the  poet  of  these  folk, 
Am  ordered  to  compile 
This  truly  famous  history 
In  good  old  ballad  style. 

165 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Which  having  done  as  to  have  earned 
The  sweet  rewards  of  fame, 

In  what  same  style  1 did  begin 
I now  shall  end  the  same. 

So  let  us  sing:  Long  live  the  King, 
Long  live  the  Queen  and  Jack, 

Long  live  the  ten-spot  and  the  ace, 
And  also  all  the  pack. 


166 


THE  STORK 


LAST  night  the  Stork  came  stalking, 
j And,  Stork,  beneath  your  wing 
Lay,  lapped  in  dreamless  slumber, 

The  tiniest  little  thing! 

From  Babyland,  out  yonder 
Beside  a silver  sea, 

You  brought  a priceless  treasure 
As  gift  to  mine  and  me! 

Last  night  my  dear  one  listened  — 

And,  wife,  you  knew  the  cry  — 

The  dear  old  Stork  has  sought  our  home 
A many  times  gone  by! 

And  in  your  gentle  bosom 
1 found  the  pretty  thing 
That  from  the  realm  out  yonder 
Our  friend  the  Stork  did  bring. 

167 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Last  night  a babe  awakened, 

And,  babe,  how  strange  and  new 
Must  seem  the  home  and  people 
The  Stork  has  brought  you  to; 
And  yet  methinks  you  like  them  — 
You  neither  stare  nor  weep, 

But  closer  to  my  dear  one 
You  cuddle,  and  you  sleep! 

Last  night  my  heart  grew  fonder  — 
O happy  heart  of  mine, 

Sing  of  the  inspirations 
That  round  my  pathway  shine! 
And  sing  your  sweetest  love-song 
To  this  dear  nestling  wee 
The  Stork  from  ’Way-Out-Yonder 
Hath  brought  to  mine  and  me! 


168 


THE  BOTTLE-TREE 


A BOTTLE-TREE  bloometh  in  Winkyway 
land  — 

Heigh-ho  for  a bottle,  I say ! 

A snug  little  berth  in  that  ship  I demand 
That  rocketh  the  Bottle-Tree  babies  away 
Where  the  Bottle-Tree  bloometh  by  night 
and  by  day 

And  reacheth  its  fruit  to  each  wee,  dimpled 
hand; 

You  take  of  that  fruit  as  much  as  you  list, 
For  colic ’s  a nuisance  that  does  n’t  exist! 
So  cuddle  me  close,  and  cuddle  me  fast, 

And  cuddle  me  snug  in  my  cradle  away, 
For  I hunger  and  thirst  for  that  precious 
repast  — 

Heigh-ho  for  a bottle,  I say ! 

169 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


The  Bottle-Tree  bloometh  by  night  and  by 
day! 

Heigh-ho  for  Winkyway  land! 

And  Bottle-Tree  fruit  (as  I ’ve  heard  people 
say) 

Makes  bellies  of  Bottle-Tree  babies  ex- 
pand — 

And  that  is  a trick  I would  fain  under- 
stand ! 

Heigh-ho  for  a bottle  to-day! 

And  heigh-ho  for  a bottle  to-night  — 

A bottle  of  milk  that  is  creamy  and  white! 
So  cuddle  me  close,  and  cuddle  me  fast, 

And  cuddle  me  snug  in  my  cradle  away, 
For  1 hunger  and  thirst  for  that  precious 
repast  — 

Heigh-ho  for  a bottle,  I say! 


GOOGLY-GOO 


OF  mornings,  bright  and  early, 
When  the  lark  is  on  the  wing 
And  the  robin  in  the  maple 
Hops  from  her  nest  to  sing, 

From  yonder  cheery  chamber 
Cometh  a mellow  coo  — 

T is  the  sweet,  persuasive  treble 
Of  my  little  Googly-Goo! 

The  sunbeams  hear  his  music, 

And  they  seek  his  little  bed, 

And  they  dance  their  prettiest  dances 
Round  his  golden  curly  head: 
Schottisches,  galops,  minuets. 
Gavottes  and  waltzes,  too, 

Dance  they  unto  the  music 
Of  my  googling  Googly-Goo. 

171 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


My  heart  — my  heart  it  leapeth 
To  hear  that  treble  tone; 

What  music  like  ihy  music, 

My  darling  and  mine  own! 
And  patiently  — yes,  cheerfully 
1 toil  the  long  day  through  — 
My  labor  seemeth  lightened 
By  the  song  of  Googly-Goo! 

I may  not  see  his  antics, 

Nor  kiss  his  dimpled  cheek: 

I may  not  smooth  the  tresses 
The  sunbeams  love  to  seek; 

It  mattereth  not  — the  echo 
Of  his  sweet,  persuasive  coo 
Recurreth  to  remind  me 
Of  my  little  Googly-Goo. 

And  when  I come  at  evening, 

1 stand  without  the  door 
And  patiently  I listen 
For  that  dear  sound  once  more 
And  oftentimes  I wonder, 

“Oh,  God!  what  should  1 do 
If  any  ill  should  happen 
To  my  little  Googly-Goo!” 


172 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Then  in  affright  I call  him  — 

1 hear  his  gleeful  shouts! 

Begone,  ye  dread  forebodings  — 
Begone,  ye  killing  doubts! 

For,  with  my  arms  about  him. 

My  heart  warms  through  and  through 
With  the  oogling  and  the  googling 
Of  my  little  Googly-Goo! 


'73 


THE  BENCH-LEGGED  FYCE 


S PEAKIN’  of  dorgs,  my  bench-legged  fyce 
Hed  most  o’  the  virtues,  an’  nary  a vice. 
Some  folks  called  him  Sooner,  a name  that 
arose 

From  his  predisposition  to  chronic  repose; 
But,  rouse  his  ambition,  hecould  n’tbebeat — 
Yer  bet  yer  he  got  thar  on  all  his  four  feet! 

Mos’  dorgs  hez  some  forte  — like  huntin’  an’ 
such, 

But  the  sports  o’  the  field  did  n’t  bother  him 
much ; 

Wuz  just  a plain  dorg,  an’  contented  to  be 
On  peaceable  terms  with  the  neighbors  an’ 
me; 

Used  to  fiddle  an’  squirm,  and  grunt  “Oh, 
how  nice!  ” 

When  I tickled  the  back  of  that  bench-legged 
fyce! 


'74 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


He  wuz  long  in  the  bar’l,  like  a fyce  oughter 
be; 

His  color  wuz  yaller  as  ever  you  see; 

His  tail,  curlin’  upward,  wuz  long,  loose,  an' 
slim  — 

When  he  did  n’t  wag  it,  why,  the  tail  it 
wagged  him  ! 

His  legs  wuz  so  crooked,  my  bench-legged 
pup 

Wuz  as  tall  settin’  down  as  he  wuz  standin’ 
up! 

He ’d  lie  by  the  stove  of  a night  an’  regret 

The  various  vittles  an’  things  he  had  et; 

When  a stranger,  most  likely  a tramp,  come 
along, 

He’d  lift  up  his  voice  in  significant  song  — 

You  wondered,  by  gum!  how  there  ever 
wuz  space 

In  that  bosom  o’  his’n  to  hold  so  much  bass! 

Of  daytimes  he ’d  sneak  to  the  road  an’  lie 
down, 

An’  tackle  the  country  dorgs  cornin’  to  town ; 

By  common  consent  he  wuz  boss  in  St.  Jo, 

For  what  he  took  hold  of  he  never  let  go ! 


*75 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


An’  a dude  that  come  courtin’  our  girl  left 
a slice 

Of  his  white  flannel  suit  with  our  bench- 
legged fyce! 

He  wuz  good  to  us  kids — when  we  pulled 
at  his  fur 

Or  twisted  his  tail  he  would  never  demur; 

He  seemed  to  enjoy  all  our  play  an’  our 
chaff, 

For  his  tongue  ’u’d  hang  out  an’  he ’d  laff 
an’  he ’d  laff ; 

An’  once,  when  the  Hobart  boy  fell  through 
the  ice, 

He  wuz  drug  clean  ashore  by  that  bench- 
legged fyce ! 


We  all  hev  our  choice,  an’  you,  like  the 
rest, 

Allow  that  the  dorg  which  you ’ve  got  is 
the  best; 

I would  n’t  give  much  for  the  boy  ’at  grows 
up 

With  no  friendship  subsistin’  ’tween  him  an’ 
a pup! 


176 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


When  a fellow  gits  old  — 1 tell  you  it  ’s 
nice 

To  think  of  his  youth  and  his  bench-legged 
fyce! 

To  think  of  the  springtime  ’way  back  in  St. 
Jo- 

Of  the  peach-trees  abloom  an’  the  daisies 
ablow; 

To  think  of  the  play  in  the  medder  an’ 
grove, 

When  little  legs  wrassled  an’  little  han’s 
strove; 

To  think  of  the  loyalty,  valor,  an’  truth 

Of  the  friendships  that  hallow  the  season  of 
youth ! 


177 


LITTLE  MISS  BRAG 


LITTLE  Miss  Brag  has  much  to  say 
a To  the  rich  little  lady  from  over  the  way, 
And  the  rich  little  lady  puts  out  a lip 
As  she  looks  at  her  own  white,  dainty  slip, 
And  wishes  that  she  could  wear  a gown 
As  pretty  as  gingham  of  faded  brown ! 

For  little  Miss  Brag  she  lays  much  stress 
On  the  privileges  of  a gingham  dress  — 

“ Aha, 

Oho!” 

The  rich  little  lady  from  over  the  way 
Has  beautiful  dolls  in  vast  array; 

Yet  she  envies  the  raggedy  home-made  doll 
She  hears  our  little  Miss  Brag  extol. 

For  the  raggedy  doll  can  fear  no  hurt 
From  wet,  or  heat,  or  tumble,  or  dirt! 

Her  nose  is  inked,  and  her  mouth  is,  too, 
And  one  eye  ’s  black  and  the  other ’s  blue  — 
“ Aha, 

Oho!” 

.78 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


The  rich  little  lady  goes  out  to  ride 
With  footmen  standing  up  outside, 

Yet  wishes  that,  sometimes,  after  dark 
Her  father  would  trundle  her  in  the  park; — 
That,  sometimes,  her  mother  would  sing  the 
things 

Little  Miss  Brag  says  her  mother  sings 
When  through  the  attic  window  streams 
The  moonlight  full  of  golden  dreams  — 

“ Aha, 

Oho!” 

Yes,  little  Miss  Brag  has  much  to  say 
To  the  rich  little  lady  from  over  the  way; 
And  yet  who  knows  but  from  her  heart 
Often  the  bitter  sighs  upstart  — 

Uprise  to  lose  their  burn  and  sting 

In  the  grace  of  the  tongue  that  loves  to  sing 

Praise  of  the  treasures  all  its  own ! 

So  1 ’ve  come  to  love  that  treble  tone  — 
“Aha, 

Oho!” 


>79 


THE  HUMMING  TOP 


THE  top  it  hummeth  a sweet,  sweet  song 
To  my  dear  little  boy  at  play  — 

Merrily  singeth  all  day  long, 

As  it  spinneth  and  spinneth  away. 

And  my  dear  little  boy 
He  laugheth  with  joy 
When  he  heareth  the  monotone 
Of  that  busy  thing 
That  loveth  to  sing 
The  song  that  is  all  its  own. 

Hold  fast  the  string  and  wind  it  tight, 

That  the  song  be  loud  and  clear; 

Now  hurl  the  top  with  all  your  might 
Upon  the  banquette  here; 

And  straight  from  the  string 
The  joyous  thing 
Boundeth  and  spinneth  along, 

And  it  whirrs  and  it  chirrs 
And  it  birrs  and  it  purrs 
Ever  its  pretty  song. 

180 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Will  ever  my  dear  little  boy  grow  old, 
As  some  have  grown  before  ? 

Will  ever  his  heart  feel  faint  and  cold, 
When  he  heareth  the  songs  of  yore  ? 
Will  ever  this  toy 
Of  my  dear  little  boy, 

When  the  years  have  worn  away, 

Sing  sad  and  low 
Of  the  long  ago, 

As  it  singeth  to  me  to-day  ? 


181 


LADY  BUTTON-EYES 


WHEN  the  busy  day  is  done, 

And  my  weary  little  one 
Rocketh  gently  to  and  fro; 

When  the  night  winds  softly  blow, 
And  the  crickets  in  the  glen 
Chirp  and  chirp  and  chirp  again; 

When  upon  the  haunted  green 
Fairies  dance  around  their  queen  — 
Then  from  yonder  misty  skies 
Cometh  Lady  Button-Eyes. 

Through  the  murk  and  mist  and  gloam 
To  our  quiet,  cozy  home, 

Where  to  singing,  sweet  and  low, 
Rocks  a cradle  to  and  fro; 

Where  the  clock’s  dull  monotone 
Telleth  of  the  day  that ’s  done; 

Where  the  moonbeams  hover  o’er 
Playthings  sleeping  on  the  floor  — 
Where  my  weary  wee  one  lies 
Cometh  Lady  Button-Eyes. 

182 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Cometh  like  a fleeting  ghost 
From  some  distant  eerie  coast; 
Never  footfall  can  you  hear 
As  that  spirit  fareth  near  — 

Never  whisper,  never  word 
From  that  shadow-queen  is  heard. 
In  ethereal  raiment  dight, 

From  the  realm  of  fay  and  sprite 
In  the  depth  of  yonder  skies 
Cometh  Lady  Button-Eyes. 

Layeth  she  her  hands  upon 
My  dear  weary  little  one, 

And  those  white  hands  overspread 
Like  a veil  the  curly  head, 

Seem  to  fondle  and  caress 
Every  little  silken  tress; 

Then  she  smooths  the  eyelids  down 
Over  those  two  eyes  of  brown  — 

In  such  soothing,  tender  wise 
Cometh  Lady  Button-Eyes. 

Dearest,  feel  upon  your  brow 
That  caressing  magic  now; 

For  the  crickets  in  the  glen 
Chirp  and  chirp  and  chirp  again, 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


While  upon  the  haunted  green 
Fairies  dance  around  their  queen, 
And  the  moonbeams  hover  o’er 
Playthings  sleeping  on  the  floor  — 
Hush,  my  sweet!  from  yonder  skies 
Cometh  Lady  Button-Eyes! 


THE  RIDE  TO  BUMPVILLE 


PLAY  that  my  knee  was  a calico  mare 
Saddled  and  bridled  for  Bumpville; 
Leap  to  the  back  of  this  steed,  if  you  dare, 
And  gallop  away  to  Bumpville! 

I hope  you  ’ll  be  sure  to  sit  fast  in  your  seat, 
For  this  calico  mare  is  prodigiously  fleet, 
And  many  adventures  you  ’re  likely  to  meet 
As  you  journey  along  to  Bumpville. 

This  calico  mare  both  gallops  and  trots 
While  whisking  you  off  to  Bumpville; 
She  paces,  she  shies,  and  she  stumbles,  in 
spots, 

In  the  tortuous  road  to  Bumpville; 

And  sometimes  this  strangely  mercurial  steed 
Will  suddenly  stop  and  refuse  to  proceed, 
Which,  all  will  admit,  is  vexatious  indeed, 
When  one  is  en  route  to  Bumpville! 

*85 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


She ’s  scared  of  the  cars  when  the  engine 
goes  “Toot!  ” 

Down  by  the  crossing  at  Bumpville; 

You ’d  better  look  out  for  that  treacherous 
brute 

Bearing  you  off  to  Bumpville! 

With  a snort  she  rears  up  on  herhindermost 
heels, 

And  executes  jigs  and  Virginia  reels  — 
Words  fail  to  explain  how  embarrassed  one 
feels 

Dancing  so  wildly  to  Bumpville! 

It ’s  bumpytybump  and  it ’s  jiggytyjog, 
Journeying  on  to  Bumpville; 

It ’s  over  the  hilltop  and  down  through  the 

bog 

You  ride  on  your  way  to  Bumpville; 

It ’s  rattletybang  over  boulder  and  stump, 
There  are  rivers  to  ford,  there  are  fences  to 
jump, 

And  the  corduroy  road  it  goes  bumpytybump, 
Mile  after  mile  to  Bumpville! 

Perhaps  you  ’ll  observe  it ’s  no  easy  thing 
Making  the  journey  to  Bumpville, 

186 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


So  I think,  on  the  whole,  it  were  prudent  to 
bring 

An  end  to  this  ride  to  Bumpville; 

For,  though  she  has  uttered  no  protest  or 
plaint, 

The  calico  mare  must  be  blowing  and  faint  — 

What ’s  more  to  the  point,  1 ’m  blowed  if  1 
ain’t! 

So  play  we  have  got  to  Bumpville! 


87 


THE  BROOK 


I LOOKED  in  the  brook  and  saw  a face  — 
Heigh-ho,  but  a child  was  1 ! 

There  were  rushes  and  willows  in  that  place, 
And  they  clutched  at  the  brook  as  the 
brook  ran  by; 

And  the  brook  it  ran  its  own  sweet  way, 

As  a child  doth  run  in  heedless  play, 

And  as  it  ran  I heard  it  say : 

“ Hasten  with  me 
To  the  roistering  sea 

That  is  wroth  with  the  flame  of  the  morn- 
ing sky ! ” 

1 look  in  the  brook  and  see  a face  — 
Heigh-ho,  but  the  years  go  by! 

The  rushes  are  dead  in  the  old-time  place, 
And  the  willows  1 knew  when  a child 
was  I. 


1 88 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  the  brook  it  seemeth  to  me  to  say, 

As  ever  it  stealeth  on  its  way  — 

Solemnly  now,  and  not  in  play : 

“Oh,  come  with  me 
To  the  slumbrous  sea 
That  is  gray  with  the  peace  of  the  evening 
sky!” 

Heigh-ho,  hut  the  years  go  by  — 

/ would  to  God  that  a child  were  If 


PICNIC-TIME 


IT  ’S  June  ag’in,  an’  in  my  soul  I feel  the 
fillin’  joy 

That  ’s  sure  to  come  this  time  o’  year  to 
every  little  boy ; 

For,  every  June,  the  Sunday-schools  at  pic- 
nics may  be  seen, 

Where  “fields  beyont  the  swellin’  floods 
stand  dressed  in  livin’  green  ” ; 

Where  little  girls  are  skeered  to  death  with 
spiders,  bugs,  and  ants, 

An’  little  boys  get  grass-stains  on  their  go- 
to-meetin’  pants. 

It ’s  June  ag’in,  an’  with  it  all  what  happiness 
is  mine  — 

There ’s  goin’  to  be  a picnic,  an’  I ’m  goin’ 
to  jine! 


190 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


One  year  I jined  the  Baptists,  an’  goodness! 
how  it  rained! 

(But  gram  pa  says  that  that ’s  the  way  “ bap- 
tizo”  is  explained.) 

And  once  I jined  the  ’Piscopils  an’  had  a 
heap  o’  fun  — 

But  the  boss  of  all  the  picnics  was  the  Pres- 
byteriun ! 

They  had  so  many  puddin’s,  sallids,  sand- 
widges,  an’  pies, 

That  a feller  wisht  his  stummick  was  as  hun- 
gry as  his  eyes ! 

Oh,  yes,  the  eatin’  Presbyteriuns  give  yer  is 
so  fine 

That  when  they  have  a picnic,  you  bet  / ’tn 
goin’  to  jine! 

But  at  this  time  the  Methodists  have  special 
claims  on  me, 

For  they  ’re  goin’  to  give  a picnic  on  the 
2 1 st,  D.  V. ; 

Why  should  a liberal  Universalist  like  me 
object 

To  share  the  joys  of  fellowship  with  every 
friendly  sect  ? 

>91 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


However  het’rodox  their  articles  of  faith 
elsewise  may  be, 

Their  doctrine  of  fried  chick’n  is  a savin’ 
grace  to  me! 

So  on  the  21st  of  June,  the  weather  bein’ 
fine, 

They  ’re  goin’  to  give  a picnic,  and  I ’m 
goin’  to  jine! 


192 


SHUFFLE-SHOON  AND  AMBER-LOCKS 


SHUFFLE-SHOON  and  Amber-Locks 
Sit  together,  building  blocks; 
Shuffle-Shoon  is  old  and  gray, 
Amber-Locks  a little  child, 

But  together  at  their  play 
Age  and  Youth  are  reconciled, 
And  with  sympathetic  glee 
Build  their  castles  fair  to  see. 

“ When  I grow  to  be  a man  ” 

(So  the  wee  one’s  prattle  ran), 

“1  shall  build  a castle  so  — 

With  a gateway  broad  and  grand; 
Here  a pretty  vine  shall  grow, 

There  a soldier  guard  shall  stand; 
And  the  tower  shall  be  so  high, 

Folks  will  wonder,  by  and  by ! ” 


193 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Shuffle-Shoon  quoth:  “Yes,  I know; 
Thus  I builded  long  ago! 

Here  a gate  and  there  a wall, 

Here  a window,  there  a door; 
Here  a steeple  wondrous  tall 
Riseth  ever  more  and  more! 

But  the  years  have  leveled  low 
What  I builded  long  ago!  ” 

So  they  gossip  at  their  play, 

Heedless  of  the  fleeting  day; 

One  speaks  of  the  Long  Ago 
Where  his  dead  hopes  buried  lie; 
One  with  chubby  cheeks  aglow 
Prattleth  of  the  By  and  By; 

Side  by  side,  they  build  their  blocks  — 
Shuffle-Shoon  and  Amber-Locks. 


n 


194 


THE  SHUT-EYE  TRAIN 


COME,  my  little  one,  with  me! 

There  are  wondrous  sights  to  see 
As  the  evening  shadows  fall; 

In  your  pretty  cap  and  gown, 

Don’t  detain 

The  Shut-Eye  train  — 

“ Ting-a-ling!  ” the  bell  it  goeth, 

“ Toot-toot!  ” the  whistle  bloweth, 

And  we  hear  the  warning  call: 

“All  aboard  for  Shut- Eye  Town!  “ 

Over  hill  and  over  plain 
Soon  will  speed  the  Shut-Eye  train! 
Through  the  blue  where  bloom  the  stars 
And  the  Mother  Moon  looks  down 
We  ’ll  away 
To  land  of  Fay  — 

Oh,  the  sights  that  we  shall  see  there! 
Come,  my  little  one,  with  me  there  — 
’T  is  a goodly  train  of  cars  — 

AU  aboard  for  Shut-Eye  Town  ! 


95 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Swifter  than  a wild  bird’s  flight, 
Through  the  realms  of  fleecy  light 
We  shall  speed  and  speed  away! 
Let  the  Night  in  envy  frown  — 
What  care  we 
How  wroth  she  be! 

To  the  Balow-land  above  us, 

To  the  Balow-foik  who  love  us, 
Let  us  hasten  while  we  may  — 

All  aboard  for  Shut-Eye  Town! 


Shut-Eye  Town  is  passing  fair  — 

Golden  dreams  await  us  there; 

We  shall  dream  those  dreams,  my  dear, 
Till  the  Mother  Moon  goes  down  — 

See  unfold 
Delights  untold ! 

And  in  those  mysterious  places 
We  shall  see  beloved  faces 
And  beloved  voices  hear 
In  the  grace  of  Shut-Eye  Town. 


Heavy  are  your  eyes,  my  sweet, 
Weary  are  your  little  feet  — 
Nestle  closer  up  to  me 

196 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


In  your  pretty  cap  and  gown; 

Don’t  detain 
The  Shut-Eye  train! 

“ Ting-a-ling!  ” the  bell  it  goeth, 
“Toot-toot!  ” the  whistle  bloweth  — 
Oh,  the  sights  that  we  shall  see! 

All  aboard  for  Shut-Eye  Town! 


197 


LITTLE-OH-DEAR 


SEE,  what  a wonderful  garden  is  here, 
Planted  and  trimmed  for  my  Little-Oh- 
Dear! 

Posies  so  gaudy  and  grass  of  such  brown  — 
Search  ye  the  country  and  hunt  ye  the  town 
And  never  ye  ’ll  meet  with  a garden  so  queer 
As  this  one  I ’ve  made  for  my  Little-Oh-Dear! 

Marigolds  white  and  buttercups  blue, 

Lilies  all  dabbled  with  honey  and  dew, 

The  cactus  that  trails  over  trellis  and  wall, 
Roses  and  pansies  and  violets  — all 
Make  proper  obeisance  and  reverent  cheer 
When  into  her  garden  steps  Little-Oh-Dear. 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  up  at  the  top  of  that  lavender-tree 

A silver-bird  singeth  as  only  can  she; 

For,  ever  and  only,  she  singeth  the  song 

“1  love  you  — 1 love  you!”  the  happy  day 
long;— 

Then  the  echo  — the  echo  that  smiteth  me 
here! 

“I  love  you,  1 love  you,”  my  Little-Oh- 
Dear! 

The  garden  may  wither,  the  silver-bird  fly  — 

But  what  careth  my  little  precious,  or  1 ? 

From  her  pathway  of  flowers  that  in  spring- 
time upstart 

She  walketh  the  tenderer  way  in  my  heart; 

And,  oh,  it  is  always  the  summer-time  here 

With  that  song  of  “1  love  you,”  my  Little- 
Oh-Dear! 


199 


THE  FLY-AWAY  HORSE 


OH,  a wonderful  horse  is  the  Fly-Away 
Horse  — 

Perhaps  you  have  seen  him  before; 
Perhaps,  while  you  slept,  his  shadow  has 
swept 

Through  the  moonlight  that  floats  on  the 
floor. 

For  it ’s  only  at  night,  when  the  stars  twinkle 
bright, 

That  the  Fly-Away  Horse,  with  a neigh 
And  a pull  at  his  rein  and  a toss  of  his  mane, 
Is  up  on  his  heels  and  away! 

The  Moon  in  the  sky, 

As  he  gallopeth  by, 

Cries:  “Oh!  what  a marvelous  sight!” 
And  the  Stars  in  dismay 
Hide  their  faces  away 
In  the  lap  of  old  Grandmother  Night. 


200 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


It  is  yonder,  out  yonder,  the  Fly-Away  Horse 
Speedeth  ever  and  ever  away  — 

Over  meadows  and  lanes,  over  mountains 
and  plains, 

Over  streamlets  that  sing  at  their  play ; 
And  over  the  sea  like  a ghost  sweepeth  he, 
While  the  ships  they  go  sailing  below, 
And  he  speedeth  so  fast  that  the  men  at  the 
mast 

Adjudge  him  some  portent  of  woe. 

“ What  ho  there! ” they  cry, 

As  he  flourishes  by 
With  a whisk  of  his  beautiful  tail; 

And  the  fish  in  the  sea 
Are  as  scared  as  can  be, 

From  the  nautilus  up  to  the  whale! 


And  the  Fly-Away  Horse  seeks  those  far- 
away lands 

You  little  folk  dream  of  at  night  — 

Where  candy-trees  grow,  and  honey-brooks 
flow, 

And  corn-fields  with  popcorn  are  white; 
And  the  beasts  in  the  wood  are  ever  so  good 
To  children  who  visit  them  there  — 


201 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


What  glory  astride  of  a lion  to  ride, 

Or  to  wrestle  around  with  a bear! 

The  monkeys,  they  say: 

“Come  on,  let  us  play,” 

And  they  frisk  in  the  cocoanut-trees : 
While  the  parrots,  that  cling 
To  the  peanut- vines,  sing 
Or  converse  with  comparative  ease! 

Off ! scamper  to  bed — you  shall  ride  him  to- 
night! 

For,  as  soon  as  you ’ve  fallen  asleep, 

With  a jubilant  neigh  he  shall  bear  you  away 
Over  forest  and  hillside  and  deep! 

But  tell  us,  my  dear,  all  you  see  and  you  hear 
In  those  beautiful  lands  over  there, 

Where  the  Fly-Away  Horse  wings  his  far- 
away course 

With  the  wee  one  consigned  to  his  care. 
Then  grandma  will  cry 
In  amazement:  “Oh,  my!” 

And  she  ’ll  think  it  could  never  be  so; 
And  only  we  two 
Shall  know  it  is  true  — 

You  and  1,  little  precious!  shall  know! 


202 


SWING  HIGH  AND  SWING  LOW 


SWING  high  and  swing  low 

While  the  breezes  they  blow — 
It ’s  off  for  a sailor  thy  father  would  go; 
And  it ’s  here  in  the  harbor,  in  sight  of  the  sea, 
He  hath  left  his  wee  babe  with  my  song 
and  with  me: 

" Swing  high  and  swing  low 
While  the  breezes  they  blow!” 

Swing  high  and  swing  low 
While  the  breezes  they  blow  — 

It ’s  oh  for  the  waiting  as  weary  days  go  ! 
And  it ’s  oh  for  the  heartache  that  smiteth 
me  when 

I sing  my  song  over  and  over  again: 
“Swing  high  and  swing  low 
While  the  breezes  they  blow  ! ’ ’ 


203 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


“Swing  high  and  swing  low  ” — 
The  sea  singeth  so, 

And  it  waileth  anon  in  its  ebb  and  its  flow; 
And  a sleeper  sleeps  on  to  that  song  of  the  sea 
Nor  recketh  he  ever  of  mine  or  of  me! 

“ Swing  high  and  swing  low 
While  the  breezes  they  blow  — 

' T was  off for  a sailor  thy  father  would 

got" 


WHEN  I WAS  A BOY 


UP  in  the  attic  where  I slept 

When  I was  a boy,  a little  boy, 

In  through  the  lattice  the  moonlight  crept, 
Bringing  a tide  of  dreams  that  swept 
Over  the  low,  red  trundle-bed, 

Bathing  the  tangled  curly  head, 

While  moonbeams  played  at  hide-and-seek 
With  the  dimples  on  the  sun-browned 
cheek  — 

When  1 was  a boy,  a little  boy ! 

And,  oh!  the  dreams  — the  dreams  I 
dreamed ! 

When  I was  a boy,  a little  boy ! 

For  the  grace  that  through  the  lattice  streamed 
Over  my  folded  eyelids  seemed 
To  have  the  gift  of  prophecy, 

And  to  bring  me  glimpses  of  times  to  be 
When  manhood’s  clarion  seemed  to  call  — 
Ah ! that  was  the  sweetest  dream  of  all, 
When  I was  a boy,  a little  boy ! 

305 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


I ’d  like  to  sleep  where  I used  to  sleep 
When  I was  a boy,  a little  boy! 

For  in  at  the  lattice  the  moon  would  peep, 
Bringing  her  tide  of  dreams  to  sweep 
The  crosses  and  griefs  of  the  years  away 
From  the  heart  that  is  weary  and  faint  to- 
day; 

And  those  dreams  should  give  me  back  again 
A peace  1 have  never  known  since  then  — 
When  1 was  a boy,  a little  boy ! 


206 


AT  PLAY 


PLAY  that  you  are  mother  dear, 

And  play  that  papa  is  your  beau; 

Play  that  we  sit  in  the  corner  here. 

Just  as  we  used  to,  long  ago. 

Playing  so,  we  lovers  two 
Are  just  as  happy  as  we  can  be, 

And  1 ’ll  say  “1  love  you”  to  you, 

And  you  say  “I  love  you”  to  me! 

“ 1 love  you  ” we  both  shall  say, 

All  in  earnest  and  all  in  play. 

Or,  play  that  you  are  that  other  one 
That  some  time  came,  and  went  away; 
And  play  that  the  light  of  years  agone 
Stole  into  my  heart  again  to-day ! 

Playing  that  you  are  the  one  I knew 
In  the  days  that  never  again  may  be, 

1 ’ll  say  “ 1 love  you  ” to  you, 

And  you  say  “ I love  you  ” to  me! 

“ 1 love  you! ” my  heart  shall  say 

To  the  ghost  of  the  past  come  back  to-day! 


207 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Or,  play  that  you  sought  this  nestling-place 
For  your  own  sweet  self,  with  that  dual 
guise 

Of  your  pretty  mother  in  your  face 
And  the  look  of  that  other  in  your  eyes! 
So  the  dear  old  loves  shall  live  anew 
As  I hold  my  darling  on  my  knee, 

And  I ’ll  say  “ 1 love  you  ” to  you, 

And  you  say  “I  love  you”  to  me! 

Oh,  many  a strange,  true  thing  we  say 
And  do  when  we  pretend  to  play! 


208 


A VALENTINE 


O,  Cupid,  and  my  sweetheart  tell 


Yes,  though  she  tramples  on  my  heait 
And  rends  that  bleeding  thing  apart; 
And  though  she  rolls  a scornful  eye 
On  doting  me  when  I go  by; 

And  though  she  scouts  at  everything 
As  tribute  unto  her  I bring  — 

Apple,  banana,  caramel, — 

Haste,  Cupid,  to  my  love  and  tell, 

In  spite  of  all,  I love  her  well! 

And  further  say  I have  a sled 
Cushioned  in  blue  and  painted  red! 
The  groceryman  has  promised  I 
Can  “hitch  ” whenever  he  goes  by  — 
Go,  tell  her  that,  and,  furthermore, 
Apprise  my  sweetheart  that  a score 


I love  her  well. 


209 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Of  other  little  girls  implore 
The  boon  of  riding  on  that  sled 
Painted  and  hitched,  as  aforesaid; 
And  tell  her,  Cupid,  only  she 
Shall  ride  upon  that  sled  with  me 
Tell  her  this  all,  and  further  tell 
1 love  her  well. 


210 


LITTLE  ALL-ALONEY 


TTLE  ALL-ALONE Y’S  feet 


Pitter-patter  in  the  hall, 

And  his  mother  runs  to  meet 
And  to  kiss  her  toddling  sweet, 

Ere  perchance  he  fall. 

He  is,  oh,  so  weak  and  small! 

Yet  what  danger  shall  he  fear 
When  his  mother  hovereth  near, 
And  he  hears  her  cheering  call: 

“ All-Aloney  ”? 

Little  All-Aloney’s  face 
It  is  all  aglow  with  glee, 

As  around  that  romping-place 
At  a terrifying  pace 
Lungeth,  plungeth  he! 

And  that  hero  seems  to  be 
All  unconscious  of  our  cheers  — 
Only  one  dear  voice  he  hears 
Calling  reassuringly: 


< ( 


All-Aloney!” 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Though  his  legs  bend  with  their  load, 
Though  his  feet  they  seem  so  small 
That  you  cannot  help  forebode 
Some  disastrous  episode 
In  that  noisy  hall, 

Neither  threatening  bump  nor  fall 
Little  All-Aloney  fears, 

But  with  sweet  bravado  steers 
Whither  comes  that  cheery  call: 
“All-Aloney! 

Ah,  that  in  the  years  to  come, 

When  he  shares  of  Sorrow’s  store, — 
When  his  feet  are  chill  and  numb, 

When  his  cross  is  burdensome, 

And  his  heart  is  sore: 

Would  that  he  could  hear  once  more 
The  gentle  voice  he  used  to  hear  — 
Divine  with  mother  love  and  cheer  — 
Calling  from  yonder  spirit  shore: 

“All,  all  alone!  ” 


212 


SEEIN’  THINGS 


I AIN’T  afeard  uv  snakes,  or  toads,  or  bugs, 
or  worms,  or  mice, 

An’  things  ’at  girls  are  skeered  uv  I think 
are  awful  nice! 

I ’m  pretty  brave,  I guess ; an’  yet  I hate  to 
go  to  bed, 

For,  when  I ’m  tucked  up  warm  an’  snug 
an’  when  my  prayers  are  said, 

Mother  tells  me  “ Happy  dreams!  ” and  takes 
away  the  light, 

An’  leaves  me  lyin’  all  alone  an’  seein’  things 
at  night! 

Sometimes  they  ’re  in  the  corner,  sometimes 
they  ’re  by  the  door, 

Sometimes  they  ’re  all  a-standin’  in  the  mid- 
dle uv  the  floor; 


213 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Sometimes  they  are  a-sittin’  down,  some- 
times they  ’re  walkin’  round 

So  softly  an’  so  creepylike  they  never  make 
a sound! 

Sometimes  they  are  as  black  as  ink,  an’  other 
times  they  ’re  white  — 

But  the  color  ain’t  no  difference  when  you 
see  things  at  night! 

Once,  when  I licked  a feller  ’at  had  just 
moved  on  our  street, 

An’  father  sent  me  up  to  bed  without  a bite 
to  eat, 

I woke  up  in  the  dark  an’  saw  things  stand- 
in’  in  a row, 

A-lookin’  at  me  cross-eyed  an’  p’intin’  at  me 
— so! 

Oh,  my!  I wuz  so  skeered  that  time  I never 
slep’  a mite  — 

It ’s  almost  alluz  when  I ’m  bad  1 see  things 
at  night ! 

Lucky  thing  1 ain’t  a girl,  or  I ’d  be  skeered 
to  death! 

Bein’  1 ’m  a boy,  I duck  my  head  an’  hold 
my  breath; 


214 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


An’  I am,  oh ! so  sorry  I ’m  a naughty  boy, 
an’  then 

I promise  to  be  better  an’  I say  my  prayers 
again ! 

Gran’ma  tells  me  that  ’s  the  only  way  to 
make  it  right 

When  a feller  has  been  wicked  an’  sees  things 
at  night! 

An’  so,  when  other  naughty  boys  would 
coax  me  into  sin, 

I try  to  skwush  the  Tempter’s  voice  ’at 
urges  me  within ; 

An’  when  they ’s  pie  for  supper,  or  cakes  ’at ’s 
big  an’  nice, 

1 want  to  — but  I do  not  pass  my  plate  f’r 
them  things  twice! 

No,  ruther  let  Starvation  wipe  me  slowly  out 
o’  sight 

Than  I should  keep  a-living’  on  an’  seein’ 
things  at  night! 


215 


THE  CUNNIN’  LITTLE  THING 


WHEN  baby  wakes  of  mornings, 
Then  it ’s  wake,  ye  people  all! 
For  another  day 
Of  song  and  play 
Has  come  at  our  darling’s  call! 

And,  till  she  gets  her  dinner, 

She  makes  the  welkin  ring, 

And  she  won’t  keep  still  till  she ’s  had  her 
fill  — 

The  cunnin’  little  thing! 

When  baby  goes  a-walking, 

Oh,  how  her  paddies  fly! 

For  that’s  the  way 
The  babies  say 
To  other  folk  “ by-by  ” ; 

The  trees  bend  down  to  kiss  her, 

And  the  birds  in  rapture  sing, 

As  there  she  stands  and  waves  her  hands — 
The  cunnin’  little  thing! 

2l6 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


When  baby  goes  a-rocking 
In  her  bed  at  close  of  day, 

At  hide-and-seek 
On  her  dainty  cheek 
The  dreams  and  the  dimples  play ; 

Then  it ’s  sleep  in  the  tender  kisses 
The  guardian  angels  bring 
From  the  Far  Above  to  my  sweetest 
love  — 

You  cunnin’  little  thing! 


217 


THE  DOLL’S  WOOING 


THE  little  French  doll  was  a dear  little  doll 
Tricked  out  in  the  sweetest  of  dresses; 
Her  eyes  were  of  hue 
A most  delicate  blue 
And  dark  as  the  night  were  her  tresses; 
Her  dear  little  mouth  was  fluted  and  red, 
And  this  little  French  doll  was  so  very  well 
bred 

That  whenever  accosted  her  little  mouth  said : 
“Mamma!  mamma!” 

The  stockinet  doll,  with  one  arm  and  one 
leg. 

Had  once  been  a handsome  young  fellow, 
But  now  he  appeared 
Rather  frowzy  and  bleared 
In  his  torn  regimentals  of  yellow; 

Yet  his  heart  gave  a curious  thump  as  he 
lay 

In  the  little  toy  cart  near  the  window  one 
day 


218 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


And  heard  the  sweet  voice  of  that  French 
dolly  say : 

“Mamma!  mamma!” 

He  listened  so  long  and  he  listened  so  hard 
That  anon  he  grew  ever  so  tender, 

For  it ’s  everywhere  known 
That  the  feminine  tone 
Gets  away  with  all  masculine  gender! 

He  up  and  he  wooed  her  with  soldierly  zest 
But  all  she ’d  reply  to  the  love  he  professed 
Were  these  plaintive  words  (which  perhaps 
you  have  guessed) : 

“Mamma!  mamma!” 

Her  mother — a sweet  little  lady  of  five  — 
Vouchsafed  her  parental  protection, 

And  although  stockinet 
Was  n’t  blue-blooded,  yet 
She  really  could  make  no  objection! 

So  soldier  and  dolly  were  wedded  one  day, 
And  a moment  ago,  as  I journeyed  that 
way, 

I ’m  sure  that  I heard  a wee  baby  voice  say : 
“Mamma!  mamma!” 


219 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  MY  LITTLE  SON’S 
SILVER  PLATE 


WHEN  thou  dost  eat  from  off  this  plate, 
I charge  thee  be  thou  temperate; 
Unto  thine  elders  at  the  board 
Do  thou  sweet  reverence  accord; 

And,  though  to  dignity  inclined, 

Unto  the  serving-folk  be  kind; 

Be  ever  mindful  of  the  poor, 

Nor  turn  them  hungry  from  the  door; 

And  unto  God,  for  health  and  food 
And  all  that  in  thy  life  is  good, 

Give  thou  thy  heart  in  gratitude. 


220 


FISHERMAN  JIM’S  KIDS 


FISHERMAN  Jim  lived  on  the  hill 

With  his  bonnie  wife  an’  his  little  boys; 
T wuz  “ Blow,  ye  winds,  as  blow  ye  will  — 
Naught  we  reck  of  your  cold  and  noise!  ” 
For  happy  and  warm  were  he  an’  his, 
And  he  dandled  his  kids  upon  his  knee 
To  the  song  of  the  sea. 

Fisherman  Jim  would  sail  all  day, 

But,  when  come  night,  upon  the  sands 
His  little  kids  ran  from  their  play, 

Callin’  to  him  an’  wavin’  their  hands; 
Though  the  wind  was  fresh  and  the  sea 
was  high, 

He ’d  hear  ’em  — you  bet  — above  the  roar 
Of  the  waves  on  the  shore ! 


221 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Once  Fisherman  Jim  sailed  into  the  bay 
As  the  sun  went  down  in  a cloudy  sky, 
And  never  a kid  saw  he  at  play, 

And  he  listened  in  vain  for  the  welcoming 
cry. 

In  his  little  house  he  learned  it  all, 

And  he  clinched  his  hands  and  he  bowed 
his  head  — 

“The  fever!  ” they  said. 


’T  wuz  a pitiful  time  for  Fisherman  Jim, 
With  them  darlins  a-dyin’  afore  his  eyes, 
A-stretchin’  their  wee  hands  out  to  him 
An’  a-breakin’  his  heart  with  the  old-time 
cries 

He  had  heerd  so  often  upon  the  sands; 
For  they  thought  they  wuz  helpin’  his  boat 
ashore — 

Till  they  spoke  no  more. 

But  Fisherman  Jim  lived  on  and  on, 

Castin’  his  nets  an’  sailin’  the  sea; 

As  a man  will  live  when  his  heart  is  gone, 
Fisherman  Jim  lived  hopelessly, 


222 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Till  once  in  those  years  they  come  an’ 
said: 

“Old  Fisherman  Jim  is  powerful  sick  — 

Go  to  him,  quick!  ” 


Then  Fisherman  Jim  says  he  to  me: 

“It  ’s  a long,  long  cruise  — you  under- 
stand — 

But  over  beyont  the  ragin’  sea 
I kin  see  my  boys  on  the  shinin’  sand 
Waitin’  to  help  this  ol’  hulk  ashore, 
Just  as  they  used  to  — ah,  mate,  you 
know!  — 

In  the  long  ago.” 


No,  sir!  he  wuz  n’t  afeard  to  die; 

For  all  night  long  he  seemed  to  see 
His  little  boys  of  the  days  gone  by, 

An’  to  hear  sweet  voices  forgot  by  me! 
An’  just  as  the  mornin’  sun  come  up  — 
“They  ’re  holdin’  me  by  the  hands!”  he 
cried, 

An’  so  he  died. 


22? 


“FIDDLE-DEE-DEE” 


THERE  once  was  a bird  that  lived  up  in 
a tree, 

And  all  he  could  whistle  was  “Fiddle-dee- 
dee  ” — 

A very  provoking,  unmusical  song 
For  one  to  be  whistling  the  summer  day 
long! 

Yet  always  contented  and  busy  was  he 
With  that  vocal  recurrence  of  “ Fiddle-dee- 
dee.” 

Hard  by  lived  a brave  little  soldier  of  four. 
That  weird  iteration  repented  him  sore; 

“ I prithee,  Dear-Mother-Mine!  fetch  me  my 
gun, 

For,  by  our  St.  Didy ! the  deed  must  be  done 
That  shall  presently  rid  all  creation  and  me 
Of  that  ominous  bird  and  his  ‘ Fiddle-dee- 
dee  ’ ! ” 

224 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Then  out  came  Dear-Mother-Mine,  bringing 
her  son 

His  awfully  truculent  little  red  gun ; 

The  stock  was  of  pine  and  the  barrel  of  tin, 

The  “bang”  it  came  out  where  the  bullet 
went  in — 

The  right  kind  of  weapon  1 think  you  ’ll 
agree 

For  slaying  all  fowl  that  go  “ Fiddle-dee- 
dee”! 


The  brave  little  soldier  quoth  never  a word, 

But  he  up  and  he  drew  a straight  bead  on 
that  bird ; 

And,  while  that  vain  creature  provokingly 
sang, 

The  gun  it  went  off  with  a terrible  bang! 

Then  loud  laughed  the  youth  — “By  my 
Bottle,”  cried  he, 

“I  have  put  a quietus  on  ‘Fiddle-dee- 
dee’!” 

Out  came  then  Dear-Mother-Mine,  saying: 
“My  son, 

Right  well  have  you  wrought  with  your 
little  red  gun! 

225 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Hereafter  no  evil  at  all  need  I fear, 

With  such  a brave  soldier  as  You-My-Love 
here!” 

She  kissed  the  dear  boy. 

[The  bird  in  the  tree 
Continued  to  whistle  his  ‘ ‘ Fiddle-dee-dee  ” !] 


226 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY 


OVER  the  hills  and  far  away, 

A little  boy  steals  from  his  morning 
play 

And  under  the  blossoming  apple-tree 
He  lies  and  he  dreams  of  the  things  to  be: 
Of  battles  fought  and  of  victories  won, 

Of  wrongs  o’erthrown  and  of  great  deeds 
done  — 

Of  the  valor  that  he  shall  prove  some  day, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away  — 

Over  the  hills,  and  far  away! 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away 

It ’s,  oh,  for  the  toil  the  livelong  day! 

But  it  mattereth  not  to  the  soul  aflame 
With  a love  for  riches  and  power  and  fame! 
On,  O man ! while  the  sun  is  high  — 

On  to  the  certain  joys  that  lie 
Yonder  where  blazeth  the  noon  of  day, 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away  — 

Over  the  hills,  and  far  away ! 

127 


LOVE-SONGS  OF  CHILDHOOD 


Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

An  old  man  lingers  at  close  of  day; 

Now  that  his  journey  is  almost  done. 

His  battles  fought  and  his  victories  won  — 
The  old-time  honesty  and  truth, 

The  trustfulness  and  the  friends  of  youth. 
Home  and  mother — where  are  they  ? 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away  — 

Over  the  years,  and  far  away! 


228 


